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POEMS 



BY 



SYDNEY DOBELL 




BOSTON: 
TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 

M DCCO LX. 



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AUTHOR S EDITION. 



RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: 

PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON AXD COMPANV. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Biographical Sketch vii 

LYRICS. 

How 's my Boy 13 

Home, Wounded 14 

A Nuptial Eve 23 

Tommy 's Dead 25 

" When the Rain is on the Roof" 28 

Desolate 35 

The Market- Wife's Song 36 

The Little Girl's Song 38 

"He is Safe" ' 41 

The Sodger's Lassie 42 

Lady Constance 45 

Fai-ewell 47 

The Milkmaid's Song 51 

The German Legion 55 

A Health to the Queen 57 

Woe is Me 60 

The Young Man's Sons: 61 

Dead-Maid's-Pool .....""! 65 

The Sailor's Return 71 

The Widow's Lullaby 72* 

The Gaberlunzie's Walk 74 

Liberty to M. le Diplomate 78 

An Evening Dream 79 

Jn War-tinie. A Psalm of the Heart 86 

A Sliower in War-time 91 

In War-time, A Prayer of the Understanding 99 

A Hero's Grave .' 101 

In War-time. An Aspiration of the Spirit 106 

The Mother's Lesson 110 

Alone 118 



IV CONTENTS. 

Farewell 119 

Sleeping and Waking 121 

" He Loves and he Rides Awav " ...»-. .-. 122 

The Captain's Wife ' 127 

Grass from the Battle-field 130 

Afloat and Ashore 141 

The Ghost's Return 148 

Daft .Jean 145 

The Recruits' Ball 146 

For Charity's Sake 148 

Wind 149 

The Botanist's Vision 150 

The Orphan's Song 151 

" She Touches a Sad String of Soft Recall " 155 



SONNETS ON THE WAR, AND OTHER POEMS. 

L' Avenir 157 

The Army Surgeon 158 

The Wounded 158 

The Wounded 159 

Vox Populi 159 

Czar Nicholas 160 

Cavalry Charge at Balaclava 160 

Home, in War-time 161 

"Warning 161 

America 162 

America 1 62 

A Statesman 163 

Poland. Italy. Hungary 163 

Jerusalem 164 

Austrian Alliance 164 

Childless 165 

The Common Grave 166 

Esse et Posse 166 

Good Night in War-time. To Alexander Smith 167 

Crazed 167 

The Harps of Heaven 176 

The Magyar's New-Year-Eve. [1859] 17.9 

Isabel. [1847] 182 

To the Authoress of " Aurora Leigh" 184 

The Convalescent to her Physician 184 

Samuel Brown 185 

To Professor and Mrs. J. S. Blackie 186 

Epigi'am on the death of Edward Forbes 186 

Epigram on a Portrait presented to J. Y. Simpson, 
M. D 187 



CONTENTS. V 

The Snowdrop in the Snow 187 

To a Cathedral Tower, on the Evening of the thirty- 
fifth Anniversary of Waterloo 190 

DRAMATIC POEMS. 

The Roman 193 

Balder 333 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Sydney Dobell was born April 5th, 1824. 
His father, John Dobell, was descended from a 
younger branch of an ancient Sussex family, 
notable as Cavaliers in the days of King Charles. 
This branch had maintained in comparative pov- 
erty, the intellectual tastes that distinguished the 
original stock, (vide " Transactions of the Sussex 
Archasological Society,") and the names of several 
members figure in Allibone's Dictionary. The 
name Dobell is supposed to be of Armoric or- 
igin, like other British surnames ending in " bell," 
and to signify " the Mouth of God." (Vide " The 
Critic," Anno 1858.) 

The family must have been long settled in Eng- 
land, for the arms now borne by them, and which 
were confirmed (not granted) by Camden in 1604, 
bear evident reference to the name as at present 
pronounced. 

John Dobell, who is author of a remarkable 
book entitled " Man unfit to govern Man," married 
Julietta Thompson, daughter of Samuel Thompson, 
well known in the earlier part of the present cen- 
tury as a leader of political reform in the city of 
London, and as the founder of a Christian Church 
intended to be on the primitive Scriptural model 
called " Freethinking Christians." (Vide " South- 
ey's Letters " and the early editions of " Evans's 
Sketch of Religious Denominations.") 



Vlll BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Sydney was the eldest son of this union. His 
early years were chiefly spent at Feekham, where 
his father, who carried on business in London as a 
wine merchant, had a country house, and where, 
at eight or nine years old, he began to write verses. 

In 1835, his father removed his business and 
family to Cheltenham in Gloucestershire. 

He and his wife had, strong convictions on the 
subject of education, and no one of their large 
family was sent to school, — the parents, with the 
assistance of masters, devoting themselves to the 
culture of their five sons and five daughters. 

When nearly twelve, Sydney entered his father's 
counting-house, in whi-^h he was a clerk for about 
twelve years. In 1844, he married Emily Ford- 
ham, to whom he had been engaged at fifteen. 
She was daughter of George Fordham of Odsey 
House, in Cambridgeshire. 

The Fordhams are among the most ancient fam- 
ilies in that County. 

In 1848, when lodging at a small cottage on the 
side of Leckhampton Hill, a branch of the Cotswold 
range, Sydney Dobell began " The Roman." Dur- 
ing its composition he removed for a few months 
to the village of Hucclecote on the old Roman 
Road near Gloucester, the Via Irminia, and com- 
pleted it at Coxhorne House, in Charlton Kings, a 
beautiful valley of the Cotswolds, near Chelten- 
ham. This pleasant house he held for five years. 

During this time, by an arrangement with his 
father, he was released from constant attendance 
on business, and became a kind of sleeping partner. 
During this time also he Avent to Switzerland, and 
*' Balder " was begun. At Coxhorne, and during 
a residence of some months in London, the greater 
part of it was written, and it was finished in 1853, 
at a lodging on the lovely hill of Amberley, at the 
top of the Cotswolds, above the valley of Nails- 
worth. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. IX 

On the completion of " Balder," Mr. Dobell 
went to Edinburgh, to seek medical advice for his 
wife, who had been for years a severe suiferer. 
They remained in Scotland for more than three 
years, spending the winters in Edinburgh, and 
wandering over the Highlands in summer. Dur- 
ing this Scottish sojourn, " England in Time of 
War " was published, a collection of short poems, 
suggestive of those British homes, which had fur- 
nished the soldiers and sailors, Avho were fighting 
in the north and east. During this time also, Mr. 
Dobell joined his friend Alexander Smith, in a 
small volume. 

This little book entitled '' Sonnets on the War," 
would have been more appropriately called " An 
Evening in War-time," as it evidently represented 
the interchange of thoughts and feelings on the 
engrossing topic of the day, that would naturally 
occur at those friendly meetings of the poets, 
which the introductory sonnets in which the book 
is dedicated to Mrs. Dobell by Mr. Smith, indicate 
to have been constantly taking place. 

Before leaving Edinburgh, Mr. Dobell delivered 
to a large and select audience of Edinburgh, Pro- 
fessors and other Savans, a lecture " on the Nature 
of Poetry," which, according to the reports of those 
who heard it, was a masterpiece of philosophy and 
eloquence. 

The delivery of this lecture, when the lecturer 
was suffering from bronchitis, produced so serious 
an irritation of the chest, that his doctors ordered 
immediate change to a southern climate. 

He returned to England, and spent the next 
winter in the Isle of Wight. 

In the spring of 1858, he took Cleeve Tower, a 
small fort near the highest point (1150 feet) of his 
favorite Cotswold hills, where he now lives, over- 
looking an English landscape of eighty miles by 
fifty 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

Mr. Dobell's first book, " The Roman," was re- 
ceived with a unanimity of applause, which has 
perhaps never fallen to the lot of a poem by an 
unknown author. 

The Athenanmi, in a foi-eible leader, proclaimed 
the appearance of a new poet, and the organs ot 
almost every critical party took up the cry in a 
manner which is thus described by an angry <iis- 
sentient in Colburn's New Monthly Magazine. 

" The author of ' Balder' entered the rude arena 
of publicity through a triumphal arch erected in his 
honour by certain critics of weight and authority. 
Seldom has such an ovation been offered to any 
modern poetical aspirant. The most wrinkled 
judicial brows were smoothed into benignity — the 
most denunciating voices softened into welcome. 
The Coming Man had long been looked for from 
some sleepy hollow of Parnassus. Now he was 
come. In the author of ' The Roman ' stood re- 
vealed the bard who was not only to grace, but to 
rule and form the age. Old things were passed 
away. A new era had begun, and contemporary 
poets, some few of whom Avere held by the credu- 
lous world to be men of mark and likelihood, were 
promised, one and all, present eclipse and ultimate 
occultation in the far-reaching and absorbing shad- 
ow of this Autocrat of Rhymeland. One of the 
prophets, whose ' smooth things ' had of course a 
rough side, went so far as to declare boldly that the 
poetry of Tennyson, and others of his class, ' would 
never descend to posterity, through lack of solidity, 
depth and embodiment. It was as the spray of a 
fountain, beautiful, but evanescent, or as the dew 
of the morning that could not last.' The dew of 
the morning ! That this stone-blind and graceless 
critic, should dare to hurl harsh judgments at poets 
whose songs were ' «.•? the dew of the morning !' " 

" Balder " had a very different reception from 
that of " The Roman ." Partly perhaps from the pro- 



BIOGKAPHICAL SKETCH, XI 

founder nature of the subject and treatment, partly 
from the reasons su<igested to Mr. Dobell in Char- 
lotte Bronte's well-known letter to him, and partly 
from a mistaken notion, in hasty critics, that the 
hero was held up for imitation, the book produced 
a critical storm. It had the distinction, said by his 
friends to be more valued by the author than any 
amount of jiopular praise, of being the object of 
violent attack in nearly every magazine and news- 
paper of the daj\ 

"England in Time of War" met with angry 
treatment from the newspaper critics, still warm 
with their attack on '' Balder," but, like its prede- 
cessor, it won the earnest appreciation of a higher 
class of judges; and, unlike the previous more re- 
condite work, appealed powerfully to the sym- 
pathies of the people. 

Some of the Lyrics contained in it have been 

again and again read aloud, by tragedians and 

others, to great popular meetings (as at Glasgow, 

where three thousand persons assembled to hear 

Miss Aitkin read " The Eveninoj Dream,") with 

, . . . . "^ ' '^ 

enthusiastic recognition. 

Though by constitution and habit preeminently 
a thinker, Mr. Dobell's private life is sufficiently 
practical. An excellent man of business, an ex- 
pert rider and driver, accustomed to the gun, the 
rifle, the rod and the oar, he is singularly unlike 
the fancy portraits of a metaphysical poet in which 
his adverse critics indulge. And the charge of 
antichristian speculation, which has occasionally 
been brought against him by hasty readers of " Bal- 
der," is yet more curiously infelicitous. Mr. Dobell 
is neither a bigot nor an enthusiast ; but it is known 
to his friends that the great object of his life is the 
introduction, in due season, of a new and nobler 
organization of Christianity. 



LYKICS. 



[The Poems which follow were originally printed in 
1856, in a volume entitled " p]ngland in Time of War."] 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

" Ho, Sailor of the sea ! 

How 's my boy — my boy V " 
" What 's your boy's name, good wife, 

And in what good ship sailed he V " 

" My boy John — 
He that went to sea — 
What care I for the ship, sailor ? 
My boy 's my boy to me. 

" You come back from sea, 
And not know my John ? 
I might as well have asked some landsman 
Yonder down in the town. 
There 's not an ass in all the parish 
But he knows my John. 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 
And unless you let me know 
I '11 swear you are no sailor. 
Blue jacket or no, 
Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
Anchor and crown or no ! 
Sure his ship was the ' Jolly Briton '" — 



14 



" Speak low, woman, speak low ! " 
" And why should I speak low, sailor, 

About my own boy John ? 

If I was loud as I am proud 

I 'd sing him over the town ! 

Why should T speak low, sailor ? " 
" That good ship went down." 

'' How 's my boy -— my boy V 
What care I for the ship, sailor, 
I was never aboard her. 
Be she afloat or be she aground, 
Sinking or swimming, I '11 be bound, 
Her owners can atFord her ! 
I say, how 's my John ? " 

" Every man on board went down, 
Every man aboard her." 

" How 's my boy — my boy ? 
What care I for the men, sailor V 
I 'm not their mother — 
How 's my boy — my boy ? 
Tell me of him and no other ! 
How 's my boy — my boy V " 



HOME, WOUNDED. 

Wheel me into tlie sunshine. 
Wheel mc into the shadow. 
There must be leaves on the woodbine, 
Is the king-cup crowned in the meadow 

Wheel me down to the meadow, 

Down to the little river, 

In sun or in shadow 

I shall not dazzle or shiver, 



iioml;, \vouni)KI>. 15 

1 shall be liappy anywhere, 
Every breath of the luorinng air 
Makes me throb and (juiver. 

Stay wherever you will, 

By the mount or under the liill. 

Or down by tlie little river: 

Stay as lono- as you please, 

Give nie only a bud from the trees, 

Or a blade of grass in morning dew, 

Or a eloudy violet clearing to bine. 

I could look on it forever. 

Wheel, wheel thro" the sunshine, 
Wheel, wheel thro' the shadow ; 
There must be odors round the pine. 
There must be balm of breathing kine. 
Somewhere down in the meadow. 
Must I choose ? Then anchor me there 
Beyond the beckoning poplars, where 
The larch is snooding her flowery hair 
Witli wreaths of morning shadow. 

Among the thicket hazels of the brake 

Perchance some nightingale doth shake 

His feathers, and the air is full of song ; 

In those old days when I was young and strong, 

He used to sing on yonder garden tree. 

Beside the nursery. 

Ah, I remember how I loved to wake, 

And. find him singing on the self-same bough 

(I know it even now) 

Where, since the flit of bat, 

In ceaseless voice he sat, 

Trying the spring night over, like a tmie, 

Beneath the vernal moon ; 

And while I listed long. 

Day rose, and still he sang. 

And all his stanchless song. 



16 LYRICS. 

As something falling unaware, 
Fell out of the tall trees he sang among, 
Fell ringing down the ringing morn, and rang 
Rang like a golden jewel down a golden stair. 

Is It too early ? I hope not. 

But wheel me to the ancient oak, 

On this side of the meadow ; 

Let me hear the raven's croak 

Loosened to an amorous note 

In the hollow shadow. 

Let me see the winter snake 

Thawing all his frozen rings 

On the bank where the wren sings. 

Let me hear the little bell, 

Where the red-wing, top-mast high, 

Looks toward the northern sky. 

And jangles his farewell. 

Let us rest by the ancient oak, 

And see his net of shadow, 

His net of barren shadow, 

Like those wrestlers' nets of old, 

Hold the winter dead and cold, 

Hoary winter, white and cold. 

While all is green in the meadow. 

And when you 've rested, brother mine, 

Take me over the meadow ; 

Take me along the level crown 

Of the bare and silent down. 

And stop by the ruined tower. 

On its green scarp, by and by, 

I shall smell the flowering thyme, 

On its wall the wall-flower. 

In the tower there used to be 

A solitary tree. 

Take me there, for the dear sake 

Of those old days wherein I loved to lie 

And pull the melilote, 



HOME, WOUNDED. 17 

And look across the valley to the sky, 
And hear the joy that filled the warm wide hour 
Bubble from the thrush's throat, 
As into a shining- mere 
Rills some rillet trebling clear, 
And speaks the silent silver of the lake. 
There mid cloistering tree-roots, year by year. 
The hen-thrush sat, and he, her lief and dear. 
Among the boughs did make 
A ceaseless music of her married time. 
And all the ancient stones grew sweet to hear, 
And answered him in the unspoken rhyme 
Of gracious forms most musical 
That tremble on the wall 
And trim its age with airy fantasies 
That flicker in the sun, and hardly seem 
As if to be beheld were all. 
And only to our eyes 
They rise and fall, 
And fall and rise, 

Sink down like silence, or a-sudden stream 
As wind-blown on the wind as streams a wedding- 
chime. 

But you are wheeling me while I dream. 
And we 've almost reached the meadow ! 
You may wheel me fast thro' the sunshine, 
You may wheel me fast thro' the shadow. 
But wheel me slowly, brother min«, 
Thro' the green of the sappy meadow ; 
For the sun, these days have been so fine. 
Must have touched it over with celandine, 
And the southern hawthorn, I divine. 
Sheds a muffled shadow. 

There blows 
The first primrose. 
Under the bare bank roses : 
2 



18 



There is but one, 

And the bank is brown, 

But soon the children will come down, 

The ringing- children come singing down, 

To pick their Easter posies, 

And they '11 spy it out, my beautiful, 

Among the bare brier-roses ; 

And when I sit here again alone, 

The bare brown bank will be blind and dull, 

Alas for Easter posies 1 

But when the din is over and gone. 

Like an eye that opens after pain, 

I shall see my pale flower shining again ; 

Like a fair star after a gust of rain 

I shall see my pale flower shining again ; 

Like a glow-worm after the rolling wain 

Hath shaken darkness down the lane 

I shall see my pale flower shining again ; 

And it Avill blow here for two months more, 

And it will blow here again next year, 

And the year past that, and the year beyond ; 

And thro' all the years till my years are o'er 

I shall always find it here. 

Shining across from the bank above. 

Shining up from the pond below, 

Ere a water-fly wimple the silent pond, 

Or the first green weed appear. 

And I shall sit here under the tree, 

And as each slow bud uncloses, 

I shall see it brighten and brighten to me. 

From among the leafing brier-roses, 

The leaning leafing roses. 

As at eve the leafing shadows grow, 

And the star of light and love 

Draweth near o'er her airy glades, 

Drawetli near thro' her heavenly shades, 

As a maid thro' a myrtle grove. 

And the flowers will multiply. 

As the stars come blossoming over the sky. 



nOMK, WOUNDKD. 19 

The bank will blossom, the waters blow, 

Till the sinfring children hitherward hie 

To gather May-day posies ; 

And the bank will be bare wherever they go, 

As dawn, the primrose-girl, goes by. 

And alas for heaven's primroses ! 

Blare the trumpet, and boom the gun, 
But, oh, to sit here thus in the sun. 
To sit here, feeling my work is done, 
While the sands of life so golden run, 
And I watch the children's posies. 
And my idle heart is whispering, 
" Bring whatever the yeai-s may bring, 
The flowers will blossom, the birds will sing. 
And there '11 always be primroses." 

Looking before me here in the sun, 
I see the Aprils one after one, 
Primrosed Aprils one by one, 
Primrosed Aprils on and on. 
Till the floating prospect closes 
In golden glimmers that rise and rise, 
And perhaps are gleams of Paradise, 
And perhaps — too far for mortal eyes — 
New years of fresh primroses, 
Years of earth's primroses, 
Springs to be, and springs for me 
Of distant dim piimroses. 

My soul lies out like a basking hound, 

A hound that dreams and dozes ; 

Along my life my length I lay, 

I fill to-morrow and yesterday, 

I am warm with the suns that have long since set, 

I am warm with the summers that are not yet. 

And like one who dreams and dozes 

Softly afloat on a sunny sea, 

Two worlds are whispering over me, 



20 LYRICS. 

And there blows a wind of roses 

From the backward shore to the shore before, 

From the shore before to the backward shore, 

And like two clouds that meet and pour 

Each thro' each, till core in core 

A single self reposes, 

The nevermore with the evermore 

Above me mingles and closes ; 

As my soul lies out like the basking hound. 

And wherever it lies seems happy ground, 

And when, awakened by some sweet sound, 

A dreamy eye uncloses, 

.1 see a blooming world around, 

And I lie amid primroses — 

Years of sweet primroses, 

Springs of fresh primroses, 

Springs to be, and springs for me 

Of distant dim primroses. 

Oh to lie a-dream, a-dream. 

To feel I may dream and to know you deem 

My work Is done for ever, 

And the palpitating fever 

That gains and loses, loses and gains. 
And beats the hurrying blood on the brunt of a 
thousand pains 

Cooled at once by that blood-let 

Upon the parapet ; 
And all the tedious tasked toil of the difficult long 
endeavour 

Solved and quit by no more fine 

Than these hmbs of mine, 

Spanned and measured once for all 

By that right hand I lost. 

Bought up at so light a cost 

As one bloody fall 

On the soldier's bed, 

And three days on the ruined wall 

Anion o; the thirstless dead. 



HOME, WOUNDED. 21 

Oh to think my name is crost 

From duty's muster-roll ; 

That I may slumber tho' the clarion call, 

And live the joy of an embodied soul 

Free as a liberated ghost. 

Oh to feel a life of deed 

Was emptied out to feed 

That fire of pain that burned so brief a while — 

That fire from which 1 come, as the dead come 

Forth from the irreparable tomb, 

Or as a martyr on his funeral pile 

Heaps lip the burdens other men do bear 

Thro' years of segregated care, 

And takes the total load 

Upon his shoulders broad, 

And steps from earth to God. 

Oh to think, thro' good or ill. 

Whatever I am you '11 love me still ; 

Oh to think, tho' dull I be. 

You that are so grand and free, 

You that are so bright and gay, 

Will pause to hear me when I will, 

As tho' my head were gray ; 

And tho' there 's little I can say, 

Each will look kind with honour while he hears. 

And to your loving ears 

My thoughts will halt with honourable scars, 

And when my dark voice stumbles with the weight 

Of what it doth relate 

(Like that blind comrade — blinded in the wars — 

Who bore the one-eyed brother that was lame), 

You '11 remember 't is the same 

That cried " Follow me," 

Upon a summer's day ; 

And I shall understand with unshed tears 

This great reverence that I see. 

And bless the day — and Thee, 

Lord God of victory ! 



LYRICS. 

And she, 

Perhaps oh even she 

May look as she looked Avhen I knew her 

In those old days of childish sooth, 

Ere my boyhood dared to woo her. 

I will not seek nor sue her, 

For 1' m neither fonder nor truer 

Than Avhen she slighted my love-lorn youth, 

My giftless, graceless, guinealess truth, 

And I only lived to rue her. 

But I '11 never love another, 

And, in spite of her lovers and lands, 

She shall love me yet, my brother ! 

As a child that holds by his mother, 

While his mother speaks his praises. 

Holds with eager hands, 

And ruddy and silent stands 

In the ruddy and silent daisies, 

And hears her bless her boy, 

And lifts a wondering joy, 

So I'll not seek nor sue her, 

But I '11 leave my glory to woo her, 

And I'll stand like a child beside, 

And from behind the purple pride 

I'll lift my eyes unto her, 

And I shall not be denied. 

And you will love her, brother dear. 

And perhaps next year you '11 bring me here 

All thro' the balmy April-tide, 

And she will trip like spring by my side. 

And be all the birds to my ear. 

And here all three we '11 sit in the sun, 

And see the Aprils one by one, 

Primrosed Aprils on and on. 

Till the floating prospect closes 

In golden glimmers that rise and rise, 

And perhaps, are gleams of Paradise, 

And perhaps, too far for mortal eyes, 



A NUPTIAJv EVE. "23 



New springs of fresh primroses, 
Springs of earth's primroses, 
Springs to be and springs for me, 
Of distant dim primroses. 



A NUPTIAL EVE. 

Oh, happy, happy maid, 

In the year of war and death 

She wears no sorrow ! 

By her face so young and fair, 

By the happy wreath 

That rules her happy hair. 

She might be a bride to-morrow ! 

She sits and sings within her moonlit bower, 

Her moonlit bower in rosy June, 

Yet ah, her bridal breath. 

Like fragrance from some sweet night-blowing 

flower. 
Moves from her moving lips in many a mournful 
tune ! 

She sings no song of love's despair. 

She sings no lover lowly laid, 

No fond peculiar grief 

Has ever touched or bud or leaf 

Of her unblighted spring. 

She sings because she needs must sing ; 

She sings the sorrow of the air 

Whereof her voice is made. 

That night in Britain howsoe'er 

On any chords the fingers strayed 

They gave the notes of care. 

A dim sad legend old 

Ijong since in some pale shade 

Of some far twilight fold. 



24 LYRICS. 

She knows not when or where, 
She sings, with trembling hand on trembling lute- 
strings laid : — 

The murmur of the mourning ghost 

That keeps the shadowy kine, 
" Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 

The sorrows of thy line ! " 

Ravelston, Ravelston, 

The merry path that leads 
Down the golden morning hill, 

And thro' the silver meads ; 

Ravelston, Ravelston, 

The stile beneath the tree. 
The maid that kept her mother's kine, 

The song that sang she ! 

She sang her song, she kept her kine, 

She sat beneath the thorn 
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston 

Rode thro' the Monday morn ; 

His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, 

His belted jewels shine I 
Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 

The sorrows of thy line ! 

Year after year, where Andrew came. 
Comes evening down the glade. 

And still there sits a moonshine ghost 
Where sat the sunshine maid. 

Her misty hair is faint and fair, 

She keeps the shadowy kine ; 
Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 

The sorrows of thy line ! 



TOMMY 'S DEAD. 25 

I lay my hand upon the stile, 

The stile is lone and (.'old, 
The burnie tliat ooes babblino- by 

Says. nought that can be told. 

Yet, stranger ! here, from year to year, 

She keeps her shadowy kine ; 
Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 

The sorrows of thy line ! 

Step out three steps, where Andrew stood — 
Why blanch thy cheeks for fear V 

The ancient stile is not alone, 
Tis not the burn I hear ! 

She makes her immemorial moan, 

She keeps her shadowy kine ; 
Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 

The sorrows of thy line ! 



TOMMY'S DEAD. 

You may give over plough, boys, 
You may take the gear to the stead, 
All the sweat o' your brow, boys, 
Will never get beer and bread. 
The seed 's waste, I know, boys, 
There 's not a blade will grow, boys, 
'T is cropped out, I trow, boys. 
And Tommy's dead. 

Send the colt to fair, boys. 
He's going blind, as I said. 
My old eyes can't bear, boys, 
To see him in the shed ; 
The cow 's dry and spare, boys, 



26 



She 's neitlier here nor there, boy:<, 

I doubt she 's badly bred ; 

Stop the mill to-morn, boys, 

Theie '11 be no more corn, boys, 

Neither white nor red ; 

There 's no sign of grass, boys, 

You may sell the goat and the ass, boys, 

The land 's not what it Avas, boys. 

And the beasts must be fed : 

You may turn Peg away, hoys, 

You may pay off old Ned, 

We 've had a dull day, boys, 

And Tommy 's dead. 

Move my chair on the floor, boys, 

Let me turn my head : 

She 's standing there in the door, boys, 

Your sister Winifred ! 

Take her away from me, boys, 

Your sister Winifred ! 

Move me round in my place, boys, 

Let me turn my head. 

Take her away from me, boys, 

As she lay on her death-bed, 

The bones of her thin face, boys. 

As she lay on her death-bed ! 

I don't know how it be, boys, 

When all 's done and said. 

But I see her looking at me, boys, 

Wlierever I turn my head ; 

Out of the big oak-tree, boys, 

Out of the garden-bed, 

And the lily as pale as she, boys. 

And the rose that used to be red. 

There 's something not right, boys, 
But 1 think it's not in my head, 
I 've kept my precious sight, boys — 
The Lord be hallowed ! 



TOMMY 'S DEAD. 27 

Outside and in 

The ground is cold to my tread, 
The hills are wizen and thin, 
The sky is shrivelled and shred. 
The hedges down by the loan 
1 can count them bone by bone, 
The leaves are open and spread 
But I see the teeth of the land, 
And hands like a dead man's hand, 
And the eyes of a dead man's head. 
There 's nothing but cinders and sand, 
The rat and the mouse have fed, 
And the summer's empty and cold ; 
Over valley and wold 
Wherever I turn my head 
There 's a mildew and a mould. 
The sun 's going out over head, 
And I 'm very old. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

What am I staying for, boys. 
You 're all born and bred, 
'T is fifty years and more, boys, 
Since wife and 1 were wed. 
And she 's gone before, boys, 
And '[ ommy 's dead. 

She was always sweet, boys, 

Upon his curly head. 

She knew she 'd never see 't, boys. 

And she stole off to bed ; 

I've been sitting up alone, boys, 

For he 'd come home, he said. 

But it 's time I was gone, boys. 

For Tommy 's dead. 

Put the shutters up, boys. 
Bring out the beer and bread, 
Make haste and sup, boys, 



28 LYRICS. 

For my eyes are heavy as lead ; 
There 's something wrong i' the cup, boys, 
There 's something ill wi' the bread, 
I don 't care to sup, boys. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

I 'm not right, I doubt, boys, 
I' ve such a sleepy head, 
I shall never more be stout, boys, 
You may carry me to bed. 
What are you about, boys, 
The prayers are all said. 
The fire 's raked out, boys. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

The stairs are too steejD, boys. 
You may carry me to the head, 
The night 's dark and deep, boys. 
Your mother 's long in bed, 
'T is time to go to sleep, boys. 
And Tommy 's dead. 

1 'm not used to kiss, boys. 

You may shake my hand instead. 

All things go amiss, boys. 

You may lay me where she is, boys. 

And I '11 rest my old head : 

'T is a poor world, this, boys, 

And Tommy 's dead. 



" WHEN THE RAIN IS ON THE ROOF." 

Lord, I am y)oor, and know not how to speak. 
But since Thou art so great. 

Thou needest not that I should speak to Thee well. 
All angels speak unto Thee well. 



" WHEN THE llAIN IS ON THE KOOF." 29 

Lord, Thou hast all things : what Thou wilt is 

Thine. 
More gold and silver than the sun and moon ; 
All flocks and herds, all fish in every sea ; 
Mountains and valleys, cities and all farms ; 
Cots and all men, harvests and years of fruit. 
Is any king arrayed like Thee, who wearest 
A new robe every morning ? Who is crowned 
As Thou, who settest heaven upon Thy head ? 
But as for me — 

For me, if he be dead, I have but Thee ! 
Therefore, because Thou art my sole possession, 
I will not fear to speak to Thee who art mine, 
For who doth dread his own ? 

Lord, I am very sorrowful. I know 

That Thou delightest to do well ; to wipe 

Tears from all eyes ; to bind the broken-hearted ; 

To comfort them that mourn ; to give to them 

Beauty for ashes, and to garb with joy 

The naked soul of grief And what so good 

But Thou that wilt canst do it? Which of all 

Thy works is less in wonder and in praise 

Than this poor heart's desire ? Give me, oh Lord, 

My heart's desire ! Wilt Thou refuse my prayer 

AVho givest when no man asketh V How great 

things. 
How unbesought, how difficult, how strange, 
Thou dost in daily pleasure ! Who is like Thee, 
Oh Lord of Life and Death ? The year is dead ; 
It smouldered in its smoke to the white ash 
Of winter : but Thou breathest and the fire 
Is kindled, and Thy summer bounty burns. 
This is a marvel to me. Day is buried ; 
And where they laid him in the west I see 
The mounded mountains. Yet shall he come back ; 
Not like a ghost that rises from his grave. 
But in the east the palace gates will ope, 
And he comes forth out of the feast, and I 



30 LYKICS. 

Behold him and the glory after him, 

Like to a messaged angel with wide arms 

Of rapture, all the honour in his eyes, 

And blushing with the King. In the dark hours 

Thou hast been busy with him : for he went 

Down westward, and he cometh from the east, 

Not as toil-stained from travel, tho' his course 

And journey in the secrets of the night 

Be far as earth and heaven. This is a sum 

Too hard for me, oh Lord ; I cannot do it. 

But Thou hast set it, and I know with Thee 

There is an answer. Man also, oh Lord, 

Is clear and whole before Thee. Well I know 

That the strong skein and tangle of our life 

Thou boldest by the end. The mother dieth — 

The mother dieth ere her time, and like 

A jewel in the cinders of a fire. 

The child endures. Also, the son is slain. 

And she who bore him shrieks not while the steel 

Doth hack her some-time vitals, and transfix 

1'he heart she throbbed with. How shall those 

things be ? 
Likewise, oh Lord, man that is born of woman, 
Who built him of her tenderness, and gave 
Her sighs to breathe him, and for all his bones — 
Poor trembler ! — hath no wherewithal more stern 
Than bowels of her pity, cometh forth 
Like a young lion from his den. Ere yet 
His teeth be fanglerl he hath greed of blood, 
And gambols for the slaughter : and being grown. 
Sudden, with terrible mane and mouthing thunder, 
Like a thing native to the wilderness 
He stretches toward the desert; while his dam. 
As a poor dog that nursed the king of beasts. 
Strains at her sordid chain, and, with set ear. 
Hath yet a little longer, in the roar 
And backward echo of his windy flight. 
Him seen no more. This also is too hard — 
Too hard for me, oh Lord ! I cannot judge it. 



" WHEN THE KAIN 18 ON THE UOOE." 31 

Also the armies of him are as dust. 

A little while the storm and the great rain 

Beat him, and he abideth in his place, 

But the suns scorch on him, and all his sap 

And strength, whereby he held against the ground, 

Is spent ; as in the unwatehecl pot on the fire. 

When that which should have been the children's 

blood 
Scarce paints the hollow iron. Then Thou callest 
Thy wind. He passeth like the stowre and dust 
Of roads in summer. A brief while it casts 
A shadow, and beneath the passing cloud 
Things not to pass do follow to the hedge, 
Swift heaviness runs under with a show. 
And draws a train, and what was white is dark ; 
But at the hedge it falleth on the fields — 
It falleth on the greenness of the grass ; 
The grass between its verdure takes it in, 
And no man heedeth. Surely, oh Lord God, 
If he has gone down from me, if my child 
Nowhere in any lands that see the sun 
Maketh the sunshine pleasant, if the earth 
Hath smoothed o'er him as waters o'er a stone", 
Yet is he farther from Thee than the day 
After its setting ? Shalt Thou not, oh Lord, 
Be busy with him in the under dark. 
And give him journey thro' the secret night. 
As far as earth anJ heaven ? Aye, tho' Thou 

slay me 
Yet will I trust in Thee, and in his flesh 
Shall he see God ! But, Lord, tho' I am sure 
That Thou canst raise the dead, oh what has he 
To do with death ? Our days of pilgrimage 
Are three-score years and ten ; why should he die ? 
Lord, this is grievous, that the heathen rage, 
And because they imagined a vain thing. 
That thou shouldst send the just man that feared 

Thee, 
To smite it from their hands. Lord, who are they, 



32 LYKICS. 

That this my suckling lamb is their burnt-offering ? 
That with my staff, oh Lord, their fire is kindled, 
My ploughshare Thou dost beat into Thy sword, 
The blood Thou givest them to drink is mine V 
Let it be far from Thee to do to mine 
What if I did it to mine own, Thy curse 
Avengeth. Do I take the children's bread 
And give it to the dogs V Do I rebuke 
So widely that the aimless lash comes down 
On innocent and guilty? Do I lift 
The hand of goodness by the elbowed arm 
And break it on the evil ? Not so. Not so. 
Lord, what advantageth it to be God 
If Thou do less than I ? 

Have mercy on me ! 
Deal not with me according to mine anger ! 
Thou knowest if I lift my voice against Thee, 
'T is but as he who in his fierce despair 
Dasheth his head against the dungeon-stone. 
Sure that but one can suffer. Yet, oh Lord, 
If Thou hast heard — if my loud passion reached 
Thine awful ear — and yet, I think, oh Father, 
I did not rage, but my most little anger 
Borne in the strong arms of my mighty love 
Seemed of the other's stature — oh, good Lord, 
Bear witness now against me. Let me sec 
And taste that Thou art good. Thou who art slow 
To wrath, oh pause ui)on my quick offence. 
And show me mortal ! Thou whose strength is 

made 
Pei'fect in weakness, ah, be strong in me. 
For I am weak indeed I How weak, oh Lord, 
Thou knowest who hast seen the unlifted sin 
Lie on the guilty tongue that strove in vain 
To speak it. Call my madness from the tombs ! 
Let the dumb fiend confess Thee ! If I sinned 
In silence, if I looked the fool i' the face 
And answered to his heart, " There is no God," 
Now in mine hour stretch forth Thy hand, oh Lord, 



'■ WHEN Tin: IJAIN IS ON THE KOOF." .'33 

And let me be asliamcd. As when in sleep 

I dream, and in the horror of my dream 

Fall to the empty place below the world 

Where no man is : no light, no life, no help, 

No hope ! And all the marrow in my bones 

Leaps in me, and I rend the night with fear! 

And he who lieth near me thro' the dark 

Stretcheth an unseen hand, and all is Avell. 

Tho' Thou shouldst give me all my heart's desire, 

What is it in Thine eyes ? Give me, oh God, 

My heart's desire ! my heart's desire, oh God ! 

As a young bird doth bend before its mother, 

Bendeth and crieth to its feeding mother, 

So bend I for that good thing before Thee. 

It trembleth on the rock with many cries, 

It bendeth with its breast upon the rock. 

And worships in the hunger of its heart, 

I tremble on the rock with many cries, 

I bend my beating breast against the rock, 

And worship in the hunger of my heart. 

Give me that good thing ere I die, my God ! 

Give me that very good thing ! Thou standest, 

Lord, 
By all things, as one standeth after harvest 
By the threshed corn, and, when the crowding fowl 
Beseech him, being a man and seeing as men. 
Hath pity on their cry, respecting not 
The great and little barley, but at will 
Dipping one hand into the golden store 
Straweth alike ; nevertheless to them 
Whose eyes are near their meat and do esteem 
By conscience of their bellies, grain and grain 
Is stint or riches. Let it, oh my God, 
Be far from Thee to measure out Thy gifts 
Smaller and larger, or to say to me 
Who am so poor and lean with the long fast 
Of such a dreary dearth — to me whose joy 
Is not as Thine — whose human heart is nearer 
To its own good than Thou who art in heaven — 
3 



34 LYRICS. 

" Not this but this :" to rae who if I took 

All that these arms could compass, all pressed 

down 
And running over that this heart could hold, 
All that in dreams I covet when' the soul 
Sees not the further bound of what it craves, 
Might filch my mortal infinite from Thine 
And leave Thee nothing less. Give me, oh Lord, 
Mv heart's desire ! It profiteth Thee nought 
Being withheld ; being given, where is that aught 
It doth not profit me ? Wilt Thou deny 
That which to Thee is nothing, but to me 
All things ? Not so. Not so. If I were God 
And Thou Have mercy on me ! oh Lord ! 

Lord ! 
****** * 

Lord, I am weeping. As Thou wilt, oh Lord, 
Do with him as Thou wilt ; but oh, my God, 
Let him come back to die ! Let not the fowls 
O' the air defile the body of my child, 
Mv own fair child that when he was a babe 
I lift up in my arms and gave to Thee ! 
Let not his garment, Lord, be vilely parted. 
Nor the fine linen which these hands have spun 
Fall to the stranger's lot 1 Shall the wild bird 
— That would have pilfered of the ox — this year 
Disdain the pens and stalls ? Shall her blind 

young. 
That on the fleck and moult of brutish beasts 
Had been too happy, sleep in cloth of gold 
Whereof each thread is to this beating heart 
As a peculiar darling '? Lo, the flies 
Hum o'er him ! Lo, a feather from the crow 
Falls in his parted lips I Lo, his dead eyes 
See not the raven ! Lo, the worm, the worm 
Creeps from his festering horse ! Mv God I my 

God! 
******* 

Oh Lord, Thou doest well. I am content. 



DKSOLATK. 35 

If Thou have need of him he shall not stay. 
But as one calleth to a servant, saying 
" At such a time be with me," so, oh Lord, 
Call him to Thee ! Oh bid him not in haste 
Straight whence he standeth. Let him lay aside 
The soiled tools of labor. Let him wash 
His hands of blood. Let him array himself 
Meet for his Lord, pure from the sweat and fume 
Of corporal travail ! Lord, if he must die, ■ 
Let him die here. Oh take him where Thou 
gavest ! 

And even as once I held him in my womb 
Till all things were fulfilled, and he came forth, 
So, oh Lord, let me hold him in my grave 
Till the time come, and Thou, who settest when 
The hinds shall calve, ordain a better birth; 
And as I looked and saw my son, and wept 
For joy, I look again and see my son. 
And weep again for joy of him and Thee ! 



DESOLATE. 

From the sad eaves the drip-drop of the rain ! 
The water washing at the latchel door ; 
A sloAv step plashing by upon the moor; 
A single bleat far from the famished fold ; 
The clicking of an embered hearth and cold ; 
The rainy Robin t!c-tac at the pane. 

" So as it is with thee 

Is it with me, 

So as it is and it used not to be, 

With thee used not to be. 

Nor me." 

So singeth Robin on the willow tree, 

The rainy Robin tic-tac at the pane. 



36 LYK1C8. 

Here in this breast all day 
The fire is dim and low, 
Within I care not to stay, 
Without I care not to go. 

A sadness ever sings 

Of unforgotten things. 

And the bird of love is patting at the pane 

But the wintry water deepens at the door, 

And a step is plashing by upon the moor 

Into the dark upon the darkening moor. 

And alas, alas, the drip-drop of the rain ! 



THE MARKET-WIFE'S SONG* 

The butter an' the cheese weel stowit they be, 
I sit on the hen-coop the eggs on my knee, 
The lang kail jigs as we jog owre the rigs, 
The gray mare's tail it wags wi' the kail, 
The warm simmer sky is blue aboon a'. 
An' whiddie, whurldic, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

I sit on the coop, I look straight before, 
But my heart it is awa' the braid ocean owre, 
I see the bluidy fiel' where my ain bonny chiel'. 
My wee bairn o' a', gaed to fight or to fa'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whadctie, -gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

* In several of the Scottish songs of this volume, the author 
vrishes, notwithstanding whatever conleur locale they may pos- 
sess, to be understood as speaking rather for a class than a local- 
ity. As most of the English provincial dialects are poetically 
objeciionable, and are modifications of tongues which exist more 
pui-ely in the " Lallans " of Scotland, it seemed to him that 
when expressing the general peasant life of the empire he migi.t 
employ the central truth of that noble Doric, which is at once 
rustic and dignified, heroic and vernacular. 



THE MAKKKT-WJFE'iS SONG. 37 

1 see the gran' toiin o' the big forrin' loun, 
I hear the cannon soun', I see the reek iiboon ; 
It may be lang John lettin' aff" his gun, 
It may be the mist — your mither disna wist — 
It may be the kirk, it may be the ha', 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

An' I ken the BLiek Sea, ayont the rock o' dool, 
Like a muckle blot o' ink in a buik fra' the schule. 
An' Jock ! it gars me min' o' your buikies lang 

syne, 
An' mindin' o' it a' the tears begin to fa'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

Then a bull roars t'ra' the scaur, ilka rock 's a bull 

agen. 
An' I hear the trump o' war, an' the carse is fu' o' 

men. 
Up an' doun the morn I ken the bugle horn, 
Jlka birdie sma' is a fleein' cannon ba'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

Gnid Heavens ! the Kussian host ! We maun e'en 

gie up for lost ! 
Gin ye gain the battle hae ye countit a' the cost? 
Ye may win a gran' name, but wad wee Jock come 

hame V 
Dinna fecht, dinna fecht ! there's room for us a', 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

In vain, in vain, in vain ! They are marchin' near 

and far ! 
Wi' swords an" wi' slings an' wi' instruments o' war ! 
Oh, day sac dark an' sair ! ilka man seven feet an' 

mair ! 



38 LYRICS. 

I bow ray head an' say, " Gin the Lord wad smite 

them a' ! " 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

Avheels twa. 

Then forth fra' their ban' there steps an armed 

man, 
His tairge at his breast an' his claymore in his han', 
His gowd pow gHtters fine an' his shadow fa's 

behin', 
I think o' great Goliath as he stan's before them a'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 

To meet the Philistine leaps a laddie fra' our line, 
Oh, my heart ! oh, my heart ! 'tis that wee lad o' 



mine 



I start to my legs — an' doun fa' the eggs — 
The cocks an' hens a' they cackle an' they ca', 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 
wheels twa. 

Oh, Jock, my Hielan' lad — oh, Jock, my Hielan' 

lad, 
Never till I saw thee that moment was I glad ! 
Aye sooner sud thou dee before thy mither's ee' 
Than a man o' the clan sud hae stept out but thee ! 
An' sae I cry to God — while the hens cackle a'. 
An' whiddie, whuddie, whaddie, gang the auld 

wheels twa. 



THE LITTLE GIRL'S SONG. 

Do not mind my crying. Papa, I am not crying for 

pain. 
Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking 

with tear ; 



THE LITTLE GIRL'S SONG. 39 

Tho' the wild wild wind is hideous to hear, 
And I see the snow and the rain. 
When will you come back again, 
Papa, Papa '? 

Somebody else that you love, Papa, 

Somebody else that you dearly love 

Is weary, like me, because you 're away. 

Sometimes I see her lips tremble and move, 

And I seem to know what they 're going to say ; 

And every day, and all the long day, 

1 long to cry, " Oh Mama, Mama, 

When will Papa come back again '? " 

But before I can say it I see the pain 

Creeping up on her white white cheek, 

As the sweet sad sunshine creeps up the white 

wall, 
And then I am sorry, and fear to speak ; 
And slowly the pain goes out of her cheek, 
As the sad sweet sunshine goes from the wall. 
Oh, I wish I were grown up wise and tall, 
That 1 might throw my arms round her neck 
And say, " Dear Mama, oh, what is it all 
That 1 see and see and do not see 
In your white white face all the livelong day ? " 
But she hides her grief from a child like me. 
When will you come back again, 
Papa, Papa ? 

Where were you going. Papa, Papa ? 
All this long while have you been on the sea ? 
When she looks as if she saw far away. 
Is she thinking of you, and what does she see ? 
Are the white sails blowing. 
And the blue men rowing, 
And are you standing on the high deck 
Where we saw you stand till the ship grew gray. 
And we watched and watched till the ship was a 
speck. 



40 LYRICS. 

And the dark came first to you, far away V 

J Avish I could see what she can see, 

But she hides her grief from a child like me.. 

AVhen will you come back again, 

Papa, Papa ? 

Don't you remember, Papa, Papa, 

How we used to sit by the fire, all three, 

And she told me tales while 1 sat on her knee. 

And heard the winter winds roar down the street. 

And knock like men at the window pane ; 

And the louder they roared, oh, it seemed more 

sweet 
To be warm and warm as we used to be. 
Sitting at night by the fire, all three. 
When will you come back again. 
Papa, Papa ? 

Papa, I like to sit by the fire ; 

Why does she sit far away in the cold V 

If I had but somebody wise and old, 

That every day I might cry and say, 

" Is she changed, do you think, or do I forget ? 

Was she always as white as she is to-day ? 

Did she never carry her head up higher V " 

Papa, Papa, if I could but know ! 

Do you think her voice was always so low V 

Did I always see what 1 seem to see 

When I wake up at night and her pillow is wet ? 

You used to say her hair it was gold — 

It looks like silver to me. 

But still she tells the same tale that she told, 

She sings the same songs when I sit on her knee, 

And the house goes on as it went long ago, 

AVhen we lived together, all three. 

Som«,^limes my heart seems to sink. Papa, 

And I feel as if I could be happy no more. 

Is she changed, do you think. Papa, 

Or did I dream she was briuhter belbre V 



•' HE JS SAFE." 41 

She makes me remember my snowdrop, Papa, 
That I forgot in thinkino- of you, 

The sweetest snowdrop that ever I knew ! 
But I put it out of the sun and the rain ; 
It was green and white when I put it away, 
It had one sweet bell and green leaves four ; 
It was green and white when I found it that day, 
It had one pale bell and green leaves four, 
But I was not glad of it any more. 
Was it changed, do you think, Papa, 
Or did I dream it was brighter before ? 

Do not mind ray crying. Papa, 

I am not crying for pain. 

Do not mind my shaking, Papa, 

I am not shaking for fear ; 

Tho' the wild wild wind is hideous to hear, 

And I see the snow and the rain. 

When will you come back again, 

Papa, Papa? 



"HE IS SAFE." 

*' And it shall come to pass at eventidp 

There shall be light." Lord, it hath come to pass. 

As one day to the world so now to me 

Thine advent. My dark eve is white as noon ; 

My year so sour and green is gold and red ; 

Mine eyes have seen Thy Goodness. All is done. 

All things bespeak an end. I am come near 
The crown o' this steep earth. My feet still stand 
Cold in the western shadow, but my broAv 
Lives in the living light. The toil is o'er. 
Surely '' He giveth His beloved Hest." 



42 LYRICS. 

I feel two worlds: one ends and one begins. 

Methinks I dwell In both ; being much here, 

But more hereafter : even as when the nurse 

Doth give the babe into the mother's arms, 

And she who hath not quite resigned, and she 

Who hath not all received, support in twain 

The single burden ; ne'ertheless the babe 

Already tastes its mother. Lord, I come. 

Thy signs are in me. " He shall wipe away 

All tears : " Thou see'st my tears are wiped away. 

" Thei-e shall be no more pain : " Lord, it is done, 

Here there is no more pain. " The sun no more 

Shall be their light by day : " even so, Lord, 

I need no light of sun or moon ! My heart 

Is as a lamp of jasper, crystal-clear. 

Dark when Thy light is out, but lit with Thee 

The sun may be a suckling at this breast. 

And milk a nobler glory. Lord, I know 

Mine hour. This painful world, that was of thorns, 

Is roses. Like a fragrance thro' my soul 

I breathe a balm of sknuber. Let me sleep. 

Bring me my easy pillows, Margery. 

I am asleep ; this oak is soft : all things 

Arc rest : I sink as into bliss. Oh Lord, 

Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. 



THE SODGER'S LASSIE. 

A' THE toun is to the doun 

Puin" o' the blaeberrie. 

Ab 's gane, Rab 's gane, 

Aggie 's gane, Maggie 's gane, 

A' the toun is to the doun. 

An 's left the house to wae and me. 



THE sodger's lassie. 43 

Heigbo the blaeberrle ! 
Wlia '11 liae a blat?berrie ? 
Ah, to min' o' auld lano- syne, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! 

Sodger Tam, he cam an' cam, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ; 
Still I went, an' still I bent, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie. 

Berries high, an' berries low, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Tam maun come where berries grow, 
Puin o' the blaeberrie. 

Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Wha '11 hae a blaeberrie ? 
Ah, to min' o' anld lang syne, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! 

Never ance I looked at Tam, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Weel I kent him when he cam, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie. 

Baith our faces to the groun', 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie, 
Tam cam near without a soun', 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 

Wow ! but we were near, I ween, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! 
A' the air was warm between, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 

Could a lassie think o' ill, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ? 
Berries e'en grow where they will, 
Heisrho the blaeberrie ! 



44 LYKICS. 

Berries here, an' berries there, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
I was kissed or I was ware, 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie. 

Wha wad fash wi' ane anither 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ? 
Berries whiles will grow thegither, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 

I was kissed or I could speer, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Hech ! that folk sud come sae near, 
A' to pu' a blaeberrie ! 

While I grat an chid forbye, 
Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Doun we sat — I ken na why — 
A' amang the blaeberrie. 

Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Wha '11 hae a blaeberrie ? 
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne, 
A' amang the blaeberrie ! 

Sidelong Tam he cam an' cam 
A' amang the blaeberrie. 
Wha' could tell he meant na fair ? 
AVeel I ken I chid him sair. 
But that day we gaed na mair 
Puin' o' the blaeberrie ! 

Heigho the blaeberrie ! 
Wha '11 hae a blaeberrie V 
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne, 
Doun amang the blaeberrie ! 



LADY CONSTANCE. 45 



LADY CONSTANCE. 

My Love, my Lord, 

I think the toil of glorious clay is done. 

I see thee leaning on thy jewelled svvor.l, 

And a light-hearted child of France 

Is dancing to thee in the sun, 

And thus he carols in his dance. 

" Oh, a gallant sans peur 
Is the merry chasseur, 

With his fanfaron horn and his rifle ping-pang ! 
And his grand havresack 
Of gold on his back. 
His pistol cric-crac ! 
And his sAvord cling-clang ! 

" Oh, to see him blythe and gay 
From some hot and bloody day, 
Come to dance the night away till the bugle blows 
' au rang ', 
With a wheel and a whirl 
And a wheeling waltzing girl. 
And his bow, ' place aux dames ! ' and his oath 
' feu et sang ! ' 
And his hop and his fling 
Till his gold and silver ring- 
To the clatter and the clash of his sword cling- 
clang ! 

" But hark, 
Thro' the dark. 

Up goes the well-known shout ! 
The drums beat the turn out ! 
Cut short your courting, Monsieur 1' Araant ! 
Saddle ! mount ! march ! trot I 



46 LYUICS. 

Down comes the storm of shot, 

The i'oe is at the charge ! En avant ! 

" His jolly havresack 
Of gold is on his back, 

Hear his pistol cric-crac ! hear his rifle ping- 
pang ! 

" Vive r Empereur ! 
And where 's the Chasseur ? 

" He 's in 
Among the din 
Steel to steel cling-clanoj ! " 

And thou within the doorway of thy tent 
Leanest at ease with careless brow unbent, 
Watching the dancer in as pleased a dream, 
As if he were a gnat i' the evening gleam, 
And thou and I were sitting side by side 
Within the happy bower 
Where oft at this same hour 
We watched them the sweet year I was a bride. 

My Love, my Lord, 

I>eaning so grandly on thy jewelled sword, 
Is there no thought of home to whisper thee, 
None can relieve the weary guard 1 keep, 
None wave the flag of breathing truce for me, 
Nor sound the hours to slumber or to weep ? 
Once in a moon the bugle breaks thy rest, 
I count my days by trumpets and alarms : 
Thou liest down in thy warcloak and art blest, 
While I, who cannot sleep but in thine arms. 
Wage night and day fresh fields unknown to fame, 
Arm, marshal, march, charge, fight, fall, faint and 

die, 
Know all a soldier can endure but shame, 
And every chance of wariare but to fly. 



FAltKWKLL. 47 

I do not murmur at my destiny : 

It can but go Avith love, Avith whom it came, 

And love is like the sun — his light is sweet, 

And sAveet his shadow — Avelcome both to me ! 

Better forever to endure that hurt 

Which thou canst taste but once than once to lie 

At ease Avhen thou hast anguish. Better I 

Be often sad Avhen thou art gay than gay 

One moment of thy sorrow. Tho' I pray 

Too oft I shall Avin nothing of the sky 

But my unfilled desire and thy desert 

Can take it and still lack. Oh, might I stay 

At the shut gates of heaven ! that so I meet 

Each issuing fate, and cling about his feet 

And melt the dreadful purpose of his eye, 

And not one power pass unimpleaded by 

Whose bolt might be lor thee ! Aye, love is sweet 

In shine or shade ! But love hath jealousy, 

That knowing but so little thinks so much ! 

And I am jealous of thee even Avith such 

A fatal knowledge. For I Avot too Avell 

In the set season that I cannot tell 

Death will be near thee. This thought doth deflour 

All innocence from time. I dare not say 

" Not noAv," but for the instant cull the hour, 

And for the hour reap all the doubtful day, 

And for the day the year : and so, forlorn, 

From morn till night, from startled night till morn. 

Like a blind slave I bear thine heavy ill 

Till thy time comes to take it: come Avhen 't Avill 

The broken slave will bend beneath it still. 



FAREWELL. 



Can I see thee stand 
On the loominf]!: land ? 



48 LYKICS. 

Dost thou wave with thy white hand 

Farewell, farewell '? 

I could think that thou art near, 

Thy sweet voice is in mine ear. 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Wliile I listen, all things seem 

Singing in a singing dream, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Echoing in an echoing dream, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Yon boat upon the sea. 

It tloats 'twixt thee and me, 

I see the boatman listless lie ; 

He cannot hear the cry 

That in mine ears doth ring 

Farewell, farewell! 

Doth it pass him o'er and o'er, 

Heard upon the shore behind, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Heard upon the ship before, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Like an arrow that can dart 

Viewless thro' the viewless wind, 

Plain on the quivering string. 

And plain in the victim's heart V 

Are there voices in the sky. 

Farewell, farewell? 

Am I mocked by the bright air, 

Farewell, farewell? 

The empty air that everywhere 

Silvers back the sung reply. 

Farewell, farewell ! 

While to and fro the tremulous accents tiy, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Now shown, now shy. 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Now song, now sigh, 



FAUEWKLL. 49 

Farewell, farewell ! 
Toy with the grasping heart that deems them nigh, 
(^ome like blown bells in sudden wind and high, 
Or far on furthest verge in lingering echoes die, 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 

Oh, Love ! what strange dumb Fate 
Hath broken into voice to see us hope ? 
Surely we part to meet again ? 
Like one struck blind, I grope 
In vain, in vain ; 

I cannot hold a single sense to tell 
The meaning of this melancholy bell, 
Farewell, farewell ! 
I touch them with my thought, and small and great 
They join the swaying swell, 
Farewell, farewell ! 
Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 

Aye, when I felt thee falling 
On this heaving breast — 
Aye, when I felt thee prest 
Nearer, nearer, nearer, 
Dearer, dearer, dearer — 
Aye, while I saw thy face, 
In that long last embrace. 
The first, the last, the best — 
Aye, while I held thee heart to heart, 
My soul had pushed off from the shore, 
And we were far apart ; 
I heard her calling, calling. 
From the sea of nevermore 
Farewell, farewell ! 
Fainter, fainter, like a bell 
Rung from some receding ship. 
Farewell, farewell ! 
The far and further knell 
Did hardly reach my lip, 
4 



50 LYRICS. 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 

A-way, you omens vain ! 

Away, away ! 

What ! will you not be driven ? 

My heart is trembling to your augury. 
Hence ! Like a flight of seabirds at a gun, 
A thousand ways they scatter back to heaven, 
Wheel lessening out of sight, and swoop again as 
one ! 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 

Oh, Love ! what fatal spell 

Is winding winding round me to this singing ? 

What hands unseen are flinging 

The tightening mesh that I can feel too well ? 

What viewless wings are winging 

The syren music of this passing bell ? 

Farewell, farewell ! 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 

Arouse my heart ! arouse ! 

This is the sea : I strike these wooden walls : 

The sailors come and go at my command : 

I lift this cable with my hand : 

I loose it and it falls : 

Arouse ! she is not lost, 

Thou art not plighted to a moonlight ghost 

But to a living spouse. 

Arouse ! we only part to meet again ! 

Oh thou moody main, 

Are thy mermaid cells a-ringing ? 

Are thy mermaid sisters singing ? 

The saddest shell of every cell 

Ringing still, and ringing 

Farewell, farewell ! 

To the sinking sighing singing, 

To the floating flying singing. 



THE MIJ.KMAID'S [SONG. 51 

To the deepening dying singing, 
In the swell, 
Farewell, farewell ! 
And the failing wailing ringing, 
The reaming dreaming ringing 
Of fainter shell in deeper cell, 
To the sunken sunken singing, 
Farewell, farewell! 
Farewell, farewell ! 
Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 



THE MILKMAID'S SONG. 

Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn, 

Turn by the dale, my Harry ! 

Fill pail, fill pail, 

He has turned by the dale. 

And there bv the style waits Harry. 

Fill fill, 

Fill pail, fill. 

For there by the style waits Harry ! 

The world may go round, the world may stand still, 

But I can milk and marrv, 

Fillpail, 

I can milk and marry. 

Wheugh, wheugh ! 
Oh, if we two 

Stood down there now by the water, 
I know who 'd carry me over the ford 
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord, 
Tho' I don't live over the water. 
Wheugh, wheugh ! he 's whistling thro', 
He 's whistling " the farmer's daughter." 
Give down, give down, 



52 LYKICS. 

My crumpled brown ! 

He shall not take the road to the town, 

For I 'U meet him beyond the water. 

Give down, give down, 

My crumpled brown ! 

And send me to my Harry. 

The folk o' towns 

May have silken gowns, 

But I can milk and marry, 

Fillpail, 

I can milk and marry. 

Wheugh, wheugh ! he has whistled thro'. 

He has whistled thro' the water. 

Fill, fill, with a will, a will, 

Tor he 's whistled thro' the water. 

And he 's whistling down 

The way to the town. 

And it 's not " the farmer's daughter ! " 

Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer. 

The sun sets over the water, 

Churr, churr ! goes the cockchafer, 

I 'm too late for my Harry ! 

And, oh, if he goes a-soldiering. 

The cows they may low, the bells they may ring. 

But I '11 neither milk nor marry, 

Fillpail, 

Neither milk nor marry. 

My brow beats on thy flank, Fillpail, 

Give down, good wench, give down ! 

I know the primrose bank, Fillpail, 

Between him and the town. 

Give down, good wench, give down, Fillpail, 

And he shall not reach the town ! 

Strain, strain ! he 's whistling again. 

He 's nearer by half a mile. 

More, more ! Oh, never before , 

Were you such a weary while ! - 



THE milkmaid's SONG. 53 

Fill, fill ! he 's crossed the hill, 

I can see him down by the style, 

He 's passed the hay, he 's coming this way, 

He 's coming; to me, my Harry ! 

Give silken gowns to the folk o' towns, 

He 's coming to me, my Harry ! 

There 's not so grand a dame in the land, 

That she walks to-night with Harry ! 

Come late, come soon, come sun, come moon, 

Oh, I can milk and marry, 

Fillpail, 

I can milk and marry. 

Wheugh, wheugh ! he has whistled thro', 

My Harry ! my lad ! my lover ! 

Set the sun and fall the dew, 

Heigho, merry world, Avhat 's to do 

That you 're smiling over and over ? 

Up on the hill and down in the dale. 

And along the tree-tops over the vale 

Shining over and over, 

Low in the grass and high on the bough, 

Shining over and over. 

Oh, world, have you ever a lover ? 

You were so dull and cold just now, 

Oh, world, have you ever a lover ? 

I could not see a leaf on the tree, 

And now 1 could count them, one, two, three, 

Count them over and over. 

Leaf from leaf like lips apart, 

Like lips apart for a lover. 

And the hill-side beats with my beating heart. 

And the apple-tree blushes all over, 

And the May bough touched me and made me start. 

And the wind breathes warm like a lover. 

Pull, pull ! and the pail is full, 
And milking 's done and over. 
Who would not sit here under the tree V 



5t LYKICS. 

What a fair tail- thing's a green field to see ! 

Brim, brim, to the rim, ah me ! 

I have set my pail on the daisies ! 

It seems so light — can the sun be set ? 

The dews must be heavy, my cheeks are wet, 

I could cry to have hurt the daisies ! 

Harry is near, Harry is near, 

My heart 's as sick as if he were here. 

My lips are burning, my cheeks are wet, 

He has n't uttered a word as yet, 

But the air's astir with his praises 

My Harry ! 

The air's astir with your praises. 

He has scaled the rock by the pixy's stone, 

He 's among the kingcups — he picks me one, 

I love the grass that 1 tread upon 

When I go to my Harry ! 

He has jumped the brook, he has climbed the 

knowe, 
There 's never a faster foot I know. 
But still he seems to tarry. 
Oh, Harry ! oh, Harry ! my love, my pride, 
My heart is leaping, my arms are wide ! 
Roll up, roll up, you dull hill-side. 
Roll up, and bring my Harry ! 
They may talk of glory over the sea. 
But Harry 's alive, and Harry 's for me, 
My love, my lad, my Harry! 
Come spring, come winter, come sun, come snow, 
What cares Dolly, whether or no, 
While I can milk and marry ? 
Right or Avrong, and wrong or right, 
Quarrel who quarrel, and fight who fight, 
But I '11 bring my pail home every night 
To love, and home, and Harry ! 
We '11 drink our can, we '11 eat our cake. 
There's beer in the barrel, there's bread in the 

bake. 



the; GERMAN LEGION. 55 

The world may sleep, the world may wake, 

But I shall milk and marry, 

And marr)% 

I shall milk and marry. 



THE GERMAN LEGION. 

In the cot beside the water, 
In the white cot by the water, 
The white cot by the white watei-, 
There they laid the German maid. 

There they wound her, singing round her, 
Deftly wound her, singing round her, 
Softly wound her, singing round her, 
In a shroud like a cloud. 

And they decked her as they wound her, 
With a wreath of leaves they bound her, 
Lornest leaves they scattered round her, 
Singing grief with every leafl 

Singing grief with every leaf, 
Sadder grief with sadder leaf, 
Sweeter leaf with sweeter grief, 
So 't was sung in a dark tongue. 

Like a latter lily lying, 

O'er whom falling leaves are sighing, 

And autumn vapors crying, 

Pale and cold on misty mould, 

So I saw her sweet and lowly, 
Shining shining pale and holy, 
Thro' the dim Avoe slowly slowly, 
Said and sung in that dark tongue. 



56 LYRICS. 

Such an awe her beauty lent her, 
While they sung I dared not enter 
That charmed ring where she was centre, 
But I stood with stirring blood 

Till the song fell like a billow, 
And I saw them leave her pillow, 
And go forth to the far willow. 
For the wreath of virgin death. 

And I stood beside her pillow, 
While they plucked the distant willow 
And my heart rose like a billow 
As I said to the pale dead — 

" Oh, thou most fair and sweet virginity, 

Of Avhom this heart that beats for thee doth know 

Nor name nor story, that these limbs can be 

For no man evermore, that thou must go 

Cold to the cold, and that no eye shall see 

That which thine unsolved womanhood doth owe 

Of the incommunicable mystery 

Shakes me with tears. I could kneel down by thee 

And o'er thy chill unmarriageable rest 

Cry, ' Thou who shalt no more at all be prest 

To any heart, one moment couie to this ! 

And feel me weeping with thy want of bliss. 

And all the unpraised beauties of thy breast — 

Thy breast which never shall a lover kiss ! ' '* 

Then I slowly left her pillow, 
For they came back with the willow^ 
And my heart sinks as a billow 
Doth implore towards the shore, 

As I see the crown they weave her. 
And I know that I must leave her^ 
And I feel that 1 could grieve her 
Sad and sore for evermore. 



A HEALTH TO THE QUEEN. 57 

And again they sang around her, 
In a richer robe they wound her, 
With the willow Avreath they bound her. 
And the loud song like a cloud 

Of golden obscuration. 
With the strange tongue of her nation, 
Filled the house of lamentation. 
Till she lay in melody. 

Like a latter lily lying, 
O'er whom falling leaves are sighing, 
And the autumn vapors crying. 
In a dream of evening gleam. 

And I saw her sweet and lowly, 
Shining shining pale and holy. 
Thro' the dim woe slowly slowly 
Said and sung in a dark tongue. 

In the cot beside the water. 
The white cot by the white water, 
English cot by English water 
That shall see the German sea. 



A HEALTH TO THE QUEEN. 

While the thistle bears 

Spears, 

And the shamrock is green. 

And the English rose 

Blows, 

A health to the Queen ! 

A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! 



58 LYRICS. 

Fill hiiih, boys, drain dry, boys, 
A health to the Queen ! 

The thistle bears spears round its blossom, 

Round its blossom the shamrock is green. 

The rose grows and glows round the rose in its 

bosom, 
We stand sword in hand round the Queen ! 
Our glory is green round the Queen ! 
We close round the rose, round the Queen ! 
The Queen, boys, the Queen ! a health to the 

Queen ! 
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, 
A health to the Queen ! 

Last post I'd a note from that old aunt of mine, 
'T was meant for a hook, but she called it a line ; 
She says, I don't know why we 're going to fight. 
She 's sure I don't know — and I 'm sure she 's 

quite right ; 
She swears I haven't looked at one sole protocol ; 
Tantara ! tantara ! I haven't, 'pon my soul ! 
Soho, blow trumpeter, 
Trumpeter, trumpeter ! 
Soho, blow trumpeter, onward 's the cry ! 
Fall, tyrants, fall — the devil care why ! 
A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! 
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, 
A health to the Queen ! 

My granny came down — " pour vous voir, mon 

barbare," 
She brought in her pocket a map — du Tartare — 
Drawn up, so she vowed, " par un hommc ah ! si 

bon ! " 
With a plan for campaigning old Hal, en haut ton. 
With here you may trick him, and here you may 

prick him. 
And here — if you do it en roi — you may lick him. 



A HEALTH TO THE QUEEN. 5'J 

But there he is sacred, and yonder — oh, la ! 

He 's as dear a sweet soul as your late grandpapa ! 

Soho, blow trumpeter. 

Trumpeter, trumpeter ! 

Blow the charge, trumpeter, blare, boy, blare ! 

Fall, tyrants, fall — the devil care where ! 

A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! 

Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys, 

A health to the Queen ! 

My cousin, the Yankee, last night did his best * 
To prove "the Czar — bless you 's — no worse 

than the rest." 
We wheeled the decanters out on to the lawn. 
And he argued — and spat — in a circle till dawn. 
Quoth I, " If the game 's half as thick as you 

say, 
The more need for hounds, lad! Hunt's up! 

Hark away! " 
Soho, blow trumpeter ! 
Trumpeter, trumpeter ! 
Tally ho, trumpeter, over the ditch — 
Over the ditch, boys, the broad ditch at Dover ! 
Hands slack, boys, heels back, boys, 
Yohoicks ! we 're well over ! 
Soho, blow trumpeter ! blow us to cover ! 
Blow, boy, blow, 
Berlin, or Moscow, 
Schoenbrun, or Rome, 
So Reynard 's at home, 
The devil care which ! 
Hark, Evans ! hark, Campbell ! hark, Cathcart ! — 

Halloo ! 
Heyday, harkaway ! good men and true ! 
Harkaway to the brook. 
You won't land in clover ! 
Leap and look ! 
High and dry ! 
Tantivy, full cry 



60 LYRICS. 

Full cry up the hill ! 

Hurrah, and it 's over ! 

A burst and a kill. 

While the thistle bears 

Spears, 

And the shamrock is green, 

And the English rose 

Blows, 

A health to the Queen ! 

A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen ! 

Fill 'high, boys, drain dry, boys, 

A health to the Queen ! 

The Queen, boys, the Queen ! the Queen, boys, 

the Queen ! 
Full cry, high and dry, boys, 
A health to the Queen ! 



WOE IS ME. 

Far in the cradling sky. 
Dawn opes his baby eye, 
Then I awake and cry. 
Woe is me ! 

Morn, the young hunter gay, 
Chases the shadoAvs gray, 
Then I go forth and say. 
Woe is me ! 

Noon ! drunk with oil and wine, 
Tho' not a grief is thine, 
Yet shalt thou shake with mine ! 
Woe is me ! 

p]ve kneeleth sad and calm. 
Bearing the martyr's palm ; 



THE YOUNG MAN's SONG. 61 

I sliriek above her psalm, 
Woe is me ! 

Night, hid in her blat:k hair 
From eyes she cannot dare, 
Lies loud with fierce despair ; 
Then I sit silent where 
She cries from her dark lair 
Woe is me ! 



THE YOUNG MAN'S SONG. 

At last the curse has run its date ! 

The heavens o;rovv clear above, 
And on the purple plains of Hate, 

We '11 build the throne of Love ! 

One great heroic reign divine, 

Shall mock the elysian isles. 
And Love in arms shall only shine 

Less fair than Love in smiles ! 

Old Clio burn thine ancient scroll, 
The scroll of Rome and Greece ! 

Our war shall be a parable 
On all the texts of peace, 

And saints look down, with eyes of praise, 

Where on our modern field 
The new Samaritan forelays 

The wrongs that other healed ! 



What deed beneath yon sun 

More Godlike than the prodigies 

We mortal men have done ? 



C>2 LYKICS. 

We wearied of the lagging steecl, 

The dove had not a quill 
To fledge the imaginable speed 

Of our wi-ld shaft of will ; 

" Ah, could each word be winged with wind, 
And speech be swift as sight ! " 
We cursed the long arms of that blind 
Dumb herald on the height, 

Dark struggling with a mystery 

He daily hid in shades, 
As a ghost steams up on the eye, 

Begins a Fate and fades. 

"If, like a man, dull space could hear ! 
If, like a man, obey ! " 
We seized this earthly hemisphere. 
This senseless skull of clay. 

We drew from Heaven a breath of flame, 

And thro' the lifeless whole 
Did breathe it till the orb became 

One brain of burning soul. 

As he o'er whom a tyrant reigns. 

It waits our sovran word. 
And thinks along the living veins 

The lightnings of its lord ! 

AVhat Force can meet our matchless might V 
What Power is not our slave ? 

We bound the angel of the light, 
We scourged him in a cave. 

And when we saw the prisoner pine 

For his immortal land, 
We wrung a ransom, half divine, 

From that celestial hand 



THE YOUNG MAN's SONG. 63 

Whose skill the heavy chain subdued, 

And all a captive's woe 
Did tame to such a tempered good 

As mortal eyes can know. 

Who comes, who comes, o'er mountains laid, 

Vales lifted, straightened ways ? 
'T is he ! the mightier horse we made 

To serve our nobler days ! 

But now, unheard, I saw afar 

His cloud of windy mane, 
Now, level as a blazing star, 

Pie thunders thro' the plain ! 

The life he needs, the food he loves, 

This cold earth bears no more ; 
He fodders on the eternal groves 

That heard the dragons roar. 

Strong with the feast he roars and runs, 

And, in his maw unfurled. 
Evolves the folded fires of suns 

That lit a grander world ! 

Yon bird, the swiftest in the sky, 

Before him sprang, but he 
Has passed iior as a wind goes by 

A strugglei in the sea. 

With forward beak and forward blows 

She slides back from his side ; 
While ever as the monster goes. 

With needless power and pride, 

Disdainful from his fiery jaws 

He snorts his vital heat. 
And, easy as his shadow, draws, 

Long-drawn, the living street. 



64 LYRICS. 

He's 

Like Curtius in the abyss, 
I see great gulphs close rim to rim, 
And Past and Future kiss ! 

Oh, Man ! as from the flood sublime 
Some alp rose calm and slow. 

So from the exhaling- floods of time 
I see thy stature grow. 

Long since thy royal brow, uncrowned, 

Allegiant nature saw, 
Long since thine eye of empire frowned 

The heavenly thrones to awe ; 

And now the monarch's breast apart 

Divides the sinking spray. 
Fit dome for such gigantic heart 

As warms so vast a sway. 

Far o'er the watery wilds I see 
Thy great right-arm upsurge, 

Thy right-hand, armed with victory. 
Is sunburst on the verge ! 

Arise, arise ! oh, sword ! and sweep 

One universal morn ! 
Another throe,. thou laboring Deep, 

And all the god is born ! 

So sang a youth of glorious blood. 

Below, the wind-hawk shook her wings. 
And lower, in its kingdom, stood 

A tower of ancient kings. 

Above, the autumn sky was blue. 

Far round the golden world was fair. 

And, gun by gun, the ramparts blew 
A battle on the air. 



dead-maid's-pool. 65 



DEAD-MAID'S-POOL. 

Oh water, water — water deep and still, 

In this hollow of the hill, 

Thou helenge well o'er which the long reeds lean, 

Here a stream and there a stream, 

And thou so still, between, 

Thro' thy coloured dream. 

Thro' the drowned face 

Of this lone leafy place, 

Down, down, so deep and chill, 

I see the pebbles gleam ! 

Ash-tree, ash-tree. 

Bending o'er the well, 

Why there thou bendest. 

Kind hearts can tell. 

'Tis that the pool is deep, 

'T is that — a single leap, 

And the pool closes : 

And in the solitude 

Of this wild mountain wood, 

None, none, would hear her cry, 

From this bank where she stood 

To that peak in the sky 

Where the cloud dozes. 

Ash-tree, ash-tree. 
That art so sweet a'nd good. 
If any creeping thing 

Among the summer games in the wild roses 
Fall from its airy swing, 
(While all its pigmy kind 

Watch from some imminent rose-leaf half un- 
curled) — 
1 know thou hast it full in mind 
(While yet the drowning minim lives, 
5 



66 LYRICS. 

And blots the shining water where it strives), 
To touch it Avith a finger soft and kind, 
As when the gentle sun, ere day is hot, 
Feels for a little shadow in a grot, 
And gives it to the shades behind the world. 

And oh ! if some poor fool 
Should seek the fatal pool, 
Thine arms — ah, yes ! I know 
For this thou watchest days, and months, and yeais, 
For this dost bend beside 
The lone and lorn well-side, 
The guardian angel of the doom below. 
Content if, once an age, thy helping hand 
May lift repentant madness to the land : 
Content to hear the cry 

Of living love from lips that would have died : 
To seem awhile endowed 
With all thy limbs did save. 
And in that voice they drew out of the grave, 
To feel thy dumb desire for once released aloud, 
And all thy muffled century 

Repaid in one wild hour of sobs, and smiles, and 
tears. 

Aye, aye, I envy thee. 
Pitiful ash-tree ! 

Water, water — water deep and still, 

In the hollow of the hill, 

Water, water, well I wot. 

Thro' the weary hours, 

Well I wot thee lying there, 

As fair as false, as false as fair. 

The crows they i\y o'er, ' 

The small birds flit about, 

The stream it ripples in, the stream it ripples out, 

But what eye ever knew 

A rinkle wimple thee ? 



dead-maid's-pool. 67 

And what eye shall see 

A rinkle wimple thee 

Evermore ? 

Thro' thy gauds and mocks, 

All thy thin enchantment thro' — 

The green delusion of thy bowers, 

The cold flush of thy feigned flowers, 

All the treacherous state 

Of fair things small and great, 

That are and are not, 

Well I wot thee shining there, 

As fair as false, as false as fair. 

Thro' the liquid rocks, 

Thro' the watery trees, 

Thro' the grass that never grew, 

Thro' a face God never made. 

Thro' the frequent gain and loss 

Of the cold cold shine and shade, 

Thro' the subtle fern and moss. 

Thro' the humless, hiveless bees, 

Round the ghosts of buds asleep, 

Thro' the disembodied rose, 

Waving, waving in the deep. 

Where never wind blows, 

I look down, and see far down, 

In clear depths that do nothing hide, 

Green in green, and brown in brown, 

The long fish turn and glide ! 

Ash-tree, ash-tree. 
Bending o'er the water — 
Ash-tree, ash-tree, 
Hadst thou a daughter ? 

Ash-tree, ash-tree, let me draw near, 
Ash-tree, ash-tree, a word in thine ear ! 

Thou art wizen and white, ash-tree ; 
Other trees have gone on, 



68 



Have gathered and grown, 
Have bourgeoned and borne : 
Thou hast wasted and worn. 
Thy knots are all eyes ; 
Every knot a dumb eye, 
That has seen a sight . 
And heard a cry. 

Thy leaves are dry: 

The summer has not gone by. 

But they 're withered and dead, 

Like locks round a head 

That is bald with a secret sin, 

That is scorched by a hell within. 

Thy skin 

Is withered and wan, 

Like a guilty man : 

It was thin. 

Aye, silken and thin, 

It is houghed 

And ploughed, 

Like a murderer's skin. 

Thou hast no shoots nor wands. 

All thy arms turn to the deep. 

All thy twigs are crooked, 

Twined and twisted. 

Fingered and fisted 

Like one who had looked 

On wringing hands 

Till his hands were wrung in his sleep. 

Pardon my doubt of thee, 

What is this 

In the very groove 

Of thy right arm ? 

There is not a snake 

So yellow and red. 



dead-maid's-pool. 

There is not a toad 

So sappy and dread ! 

It doth not move, 

It doth not hiss — 

Ash-tree — for God's sake — ■ 

Hast thou known 

What hath not been said, 

And the summer sun 

Cannot keep it warm, 

And the hving wood 

Cannot shut it down ! 

And it grows out of thee, 

And will be told, 

Bloody as blood. 

And yellow as gold ! 

Ash-tree, ash-tree. 

That once wert so green ! 

Ash-tree, ash-tree ! 

What hast thou seen ? 

Was I a mother — nay or aye ? 

Am I childless — aye nor nay ? 

Ash-tree, ash-tree, 

Bending o'er the water ! 

Ash-tree, ash-tree. 

Give me my daughter ! 

Curse the water, 

Curse thee. 

Ash-tree, 

Bending o'er the water ! 

Leaf on the tree. 

Flower on the stem, 

Curse thee, 

And curse them! 

Trunk and shoot. 

Herb and weed. 

Bud and fruit. 

Blossom and seed. 

Above and below, 



LYRICS. 

About and about, 

Inside and out, 

Grown and to grow. 

Curse you all, 

Great and small, 

That cannot give back my daughter ! 

But if there were any, 

Among so many. 

Any small thing that did lie sweet for her, 

Any newt or marish-worm that, shrinking 

Under the pillow of the water weed. 

Left her a cleaner bed. 

Any least leaves that fell with little plashes, 

And sinking, sinking. 

Sank soft and slow, and settled on her lashes 

And did what was so meet for her, 

Them I do not curse. 

See, see up the glen. 

The evening sun agen ! 

It falls upon the water, 

It falls upon the grass. 

Thro' the birches, thro' the firs, 

Thro' the alders, catching gold, 

Thro' the bracken and the briar, 

Goes the evening fire 

To the bush-linuet's nest. 

There between us and the west. 
Dost thou see the angels pass ? 
Thro' the air, Avith streaming hair, 
The golden angels pass ? 
Hold, hold ! for mercy, hold ! 
I know thee ! ah, I know thee ! 
I know thou wilt not pass me so — 
The gray old woman is ready to go. 
Call me to thee, call me to thee. 
My daughter ! oh, my daughter ! 



THE sailor's return. 71 



THE SAILOR'S RETURN. 

This morn I lay a-dreaming, 

This morn, this merry morn, 

When the cock crew shrill from over the hill, 

I heard a bujile horn. 



There sighed the sigh of the sea, 
And thro' the dream I was dreaming, 
This voice came singing to me. 

" High over the breakers, 
Low under the lee. 
Sing ho 
The" billow, 
And the lash of the rolling sea ! 

*' Boat, boat, to the billow. 
Boat, boat, to the lee ! 
Love on thy pillow. 
Art thou dreaming of me ? 

" Billow, billow, breaking, 
Land us low on the lee I 
For sleeping or waking, 
Sweet love, I am coming to thee ! 

" High, high, o'er the breakers, 
Low, low, on the lee, 
Sing ho ! 
The billow 
That brings me back to thee !" 



72 



THE WIDOW'S LULLABY. 

She droops like a clew-dropping lily, 
" Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy 
Willie!" 

The sun comes up from the lea, 

As he who will never come more 

Came up that first day to her door, 

When the ship furled her sails by the shore. 

And the spring leaves were green on the tree. 

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, 

" Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Wil- 

he ! " 

The sun goes down in the sea, 

As he who will never go more 

Went down that last day from her door. 

When the ship set her sails from the shore, 

And the dead leaves were sere on the tree. 

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, 
" Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Wil- 
lie ! " 

The year comes glad o'er the lea, 

As he who will never come more, 

Never, ah never I 

Came up that first day to her door. 

When the ship furled her sails by the shore, 

And the spring leaves were green on the tree. 

Never, ah never ! 

He who will come again, never ! 



THE widow's lullaby. 73 

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, 
"Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Wil- 
lie!" 

The year goes sad to the sea, 

As he who will never go more 

For ever went down from her door, 

Ever, for ever ! 

When the ship set her sails by the shore, 

And the dead leaves were sere on the tree. 

Ever, for ever ! 

For ever went down from her door. 

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, 
" Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Wil- 
lie ! " 

A gun, and a flash, and a gun. 

The ship lies again where she lay ! 

High and low, low and high, in the sun. 

There 's a boat, a boat on the bay ! 

High and low, low and high, in the sun, 

All as she saw it that day, 

When he came who shall never come more, 

And the ship furled her sails by the shore. 

But she droops like a dew-dropping lily, 
" Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy 
Willie!" 

All as she saw it that day. 

With a gun, and a flash, and a gun, 

The ship lies again where she lay, 

And they run, and they ride, and they run. 

Merry, merry, merry, down the merry highway, 

To the boat, hij^h and low in the sun. 



74 LYRICS. 

Nearer and nearer she hears the rolling drum, 
Clearer and clearer she hears the cry, '■ They 

come," 
Far and near runs the cheer to her ear once so 

dear, 
Merry, merry, merry, up the merry highway. 
As it ran when he came that day 
And said, " Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
Oh, wilt thou be my dearie ? 
My boat is dry in the bay. 
And I '11 love till thou be weary ! " 
And she could not say him nay, 
For his bonny eyes o' blue, 
And never was true-love so true, 
To never so kind a dearie, 
As he who will never love more. 
When the ship furls her sails by the shore. 

Then she shakes like a wind-stricken lily, 
" W^hisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie ! 
AVhisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy 
Willie ! " 



THE GABERLUNZIE'S WALK. 

The Laird is dead, the laird is dead, 
An' dead is cousin John, 
His henchmen ten, an' his sax merrie men, 
Forbye the steward's son. 

An' his ain guid gray that he strode sae gay 

When hunt was up an' on. 

An' the win' blew fair, an' the grews pu'd sair, 

An' dawn, was on Maol-don, 

An' the skeigh steeds neigh'd, an' the slot-hounds 

bay'd. 
An' up gaed the mornin' sun. 



THE GAUEKLUNZIE'S WALK. 75 

An' awa' gaed the deer wi' the merrie men's cheer, 

Awa' owre the auld Maol-don, 

An' awa' wl' a shout ran the rabble an' the rout, 

An' awa' rode cousin John, 

Wi' his horn, his horn, thro' the merry merry morn, 

His hunter's horn sae shrill ! 

An' 't was " Ho, heiiiho, hereawa', 

Heareawa', hereawa' ! 

Ho, heigho, hereawa' ! " 

A' roun' the hill ! 

Walie ! walle ! they 're a' gane dead, 

A' owre the seas an' awa' 

The laird an' his men, the sax an' the ten. 

They gaed to fight an' to fa'. 

An' walie, an' wae, an' hech ! the weary day ! 

The laird is dead an' a' ! 

A' in ae grave by the margent o' the wave 
Thegither they lay doun, 
Sax feet deep, where dead men sleep, 
A' i' the faeman's grun'. 

Foremost i' the van, wi' his bagpipes i' his han', 

The steward's ae braw son. 

An' next the young laird — gin the guid Lord had 

spared ! — 
A' as he led them on, 

Wi' his bonnie brow bare an' his lang fair hair. 
An' his bluidy braid-sword drawn ; 
An' hard by his chief, that in life was sae lief, 
In death cam cousin John, 
Wi' his horn, his horn, thro' the merry merry 

morn. 
His hunter's horn sae shrill 
When 't was " Ho, heigho, hereawa', 
Hereawa', hereawa' ! 
Ho, heigho, hereawa' ! " 
A' roun' the hill ! 



76 LYRICS. 

Gin ony uphauld the young Laird lies cauld, 

An' cauld lies cousin John, 

Sax feet deep, as dead men sleep, 

A' i' the faeman's ^run', 

A' in ae grave by the margent o' the wave. 

Where doun they lay that day, 

AVi' the henchmen ten, an' the sax merrie men, 

Ask the gaberlunzie gray. 

Step an' step, step an' step, gaed the gaberlunzie 

gray, 
Faint an' lame, wi' empty wame, he hirples on his 

way. 
Step an' step, step an step, an' owre the hill maun 

he. 
His head is bent, his pipe is brent, he has na a 

bawbee. 
Step an' step, step an' step, he totters thro' the 

mirk, 
He hears the fox amang the cocks, the houlet by 

the kirk. 
Step an' step, step an' step, an' as he cHmbs the 

hill 
The auld anld moon is gaun doun ; the nicht grows 

cauld an' still, 
The breathin' kye aroun' him lie, the ingle-light is 

gane. 
He wakes the yowes amang the knowes, an' still he 

gangs his lane. 
His slow steps rouse the blethrin' grouse, the pee- 
wit fa's an' squeals. 
The nicht-goat bleats amang the peafs, an' still he 

speils an' speiis, 
Step an' step, step an' step, an' up the craigie 

stark, 
An' mony a stane ane after ane gangs snirtlin' 

doun the dark. 
Step an' step, step an' step, that gaberlunzie gray, 



THE CtABERLUNZIE'S WALK. 7 7 

A' win's seem tint far far aliint as he gangs on his 

way. 
He hears the burn amang the fern, he hears the 

stoatie cheep, 
He hears the rustle, an' flit an' fussle, as the kae 

shifts her roost in her sleep. 
Step an' step, step an step, he gangs wi' troubled 

breath. 
He feels the silence a' aboon, he feels the warl' 

beneath ; 
Wheet an' wheet about his feet the startit mousie 

ran. 
An' as he gaes his riskin' claes aye gar him start 

an' Stan' ; 
An' as he stan's wi' knotted ban's an' leans his 

chitterin' head, 
He hears the sod his steps have trod a-tirhn' to his 

tread ; 
An' crisp foot-fa', an' sibblin' sma' o' stealthy cony 

crappin'. 
An' click o' bat aboon his hat, like fairy fingers 

snappin', 
An' ilka yird that ticked an' stirred, where swairdie 

there is nae, 
As elfin shools the tittlin' mools gar'd rinkle doun 

the brae ; 
An' safter soun' alang the groun' the grass-taps 

thro' and thro'. 
Gin owre the fiel's the wee bit chiel's were dealin' 

out the dew. 
Step an' step, step an' step, an' hech ! his freezin' 

bluid ! 
He gaes into the silence as ane gaes into a wood. 
The mair the height, mair still the nicht, an' faster 

did he gang. 
Step an' step, an' then a step, an' he listens hard 

an' lang ! 
He listens twice, he listens thrice, but why he disna 

ken ; 



78 LYRICS. 

His cauld skin skeared, an' clipped his beard ; he 

stops an' lists agen. 
There 's somethin' creepin' thro' his banes, there 's 

somethin' stirs his hair : 
'Tis mair than use, he canna choose, he listens ten 

times mair ! 
He pits his pack fra his auld back, he sits him on a 

stane, 
His eyelids fa', he gapes his jaw, an' harks wi' 

might an' main. 
The mair he list the mair uprist his gray-locks Avi' 

affright. 
Till ilka hair that he might wear was stiff an' stark 

upright. 
His sick heart stops, the low moon drops, the nicht 

is eerie chill ! 
Wi' sudden shout the dead cry out, like hunters at 

a kill. 
Full cry, full cry, the win's sweep by, a horn a horn 

is shrill ! 
An' 't is " Ho, heigho, hereawa', 
Hereawa', hereawa' ! 
Ho, heigho, hereawa' ! " 
A' roun' the hill ! 



LIBERTY TO M. LE DIPLOMATE. 

Thou fool Avho treatest with the sword, and not 

With the strong arm that wields it ! Thou insane 

Who seest the dew-drops on the lion's mane, 

But dost forget the lion ! Oh thou sot. 

Hugging thy drunken dream ! Thou idiot 

Who makest a covenant against the rain 

With autumn leaves ! Thou atheist who dost chain 

This miserable body that can rot, 

And thinkest it Me ! Fool ! for the swordless arm 



AN EVENING DKEAM. 79 

Shall strike thee dead. Madman, the lion wakes, 
And with one shake is dry. Sot, the day breaks 
Shall sober even thee. Idiot, one storm 
And thou art bare. Atheist, the corse is thine, 
But lo, the unfettered soul immortal and divine ! 



AN EVENING DREAM. 

1 'm leaning where you loved to lean in eventides 

of old. 
The sun has sunk an hour ago behind the treeless 

wold. 
In this old oriel that we loved how oft I sit forlorn, 
Gazing, gazing, up the vale of green and waving 

corn. 
The summer corn is in the ear, thou knowest what 

I see 
Up the long wide valley, and from seldom tree to 

tree, 
The serried corn, the serried corn, the green and 

serried corn. 
From the golden morn till night, from the moony 

night till morn. 
I love it, morning, noon, and night, in sunshine 

and in rain, 
For being here it seems to say, " The lost come 

back again." 
And being here as green and fair as those old 

fields we knew, 
It says, " The lost when they come back, come 

back unchanged and true." 
But more than at the shout of morn, or in the 

sleep of noon, 
Smiling with a smiling star, or wan beneath a 

wasted moon, 
1 love it, soldier-brother ! at this weird dim hour, 

for then 



80 LYRICS. 

The serried ears are swords and spears, and the 

fields are fields of men. 
Rank on rank in faultless phalanx stern and still I 

can discern, 
Phalanx after faultless phalanx in dumb armies 

still and stern ; 
Army on army, host on host, till the bannered 

nations stand, 
As the dead may stand for judgment silent on the 

o'er-peopled land. 
Not a bayonet stirs : down sinks the awful twilight, 

dern and dun, 
On an age that waits its leader, on a world that 

waits the sun. 
Then your dog — I know his voice — cries from 

out the court-yard nigh. 
And my love too well interprets all that long and 

mournful cry ! 
In my passion that thou art not, lo ! I see thee as 

thou art. 
And the pitying fancy brings thee to assuage the 

anguished heart. 
" Oh my brother!" and my bosom's throb of wel- 
come at the word. 
Claps a hundred thousand hands, and all my legions 

hail thee lord. 
And the vast unmotioned myriads, front to front, 

as at a breath, 
Live and move to martial music, down the devious 

dance of death. 
Ah, thou smilest, scornful brother, at a maiden's 

dream of war ! 
And thou shakest back thy locks as if — a glow- 
worm for thy star — 
I dubbed thee with a blade of grass, by earthlight, 

in a fairy ring. 
Knight o' the garter o' Queen Mab, or lord in 

waiting to her kinor. 



AN EVENING DKEAM. 81 

Brother, in thy plumed pride of tented field and 

turretted tower, 
SmiHng brother, scornful brother, darest thou watch 

with me one hour ? 
Even now some fate is near, for I shake and know 

not why. 
And a wider sight is orbing, orbing, on my moist- 
ened eye, 
And I feel a thousand flutterings round my soul's 

still vacant field. 
Like the ravens and the vultures o'er a carnage 

yet unkilled. 
Hist ! I see the stir of glamour far upon the twilight 

wold. 
Hist ! I see the vision rising ! List ! and as I speak 

behold ! 
These dull mists are mists of morning, and behind 

yon eastern hill. 
The hot sun abides my bidding : he shall melt them 

when I will. 
All the night that now is past, the foe hath laboured 

for the day. 
Creeping thro' the stealthy dark, like a tiger to his 

pi-ey. 
Throw this window wider ! Strain thine eyes along 

'the dusky vale ! 
Art thou cold with horror? Has thy bearded 

cheek grown pale ? 
'T is the total Russian host, flooding up the solemn 

plain. 
Secret as a silent sea, mighty as a moving main ! 
Oh, my country I is there none to rouse thee to the 

rolling sight ? 
Oh thou gallant sentinel who hast watched so oft 

so well, must thou sleep this only night ? 
So hath the shepherd lain on a rock above a plain, 
Nor beheld the flood that swelled from some em- 

bowelled mount of woe, 
Waveless, foamless, sure and slow, 
6 



82 LYRICS. 

Silent o'er the vale below, 

Till nigher still and nigher comes the seeth of fields 

on fire, 
And the thrash of falling trees, and the steam of 

rivers dry, 
And before the burning flood the wild things of the 
wood 
Skulk and scream, and fight, and fall, and flee, 
and fly. 

A gun ! and then a gun ! I' the far and early sun 
Dost thou see by yonder tree a fleeting red- 
ness rise, 
As if, one after one, ten poppies red had blown, 

And shed in a blinking of the eyes ? 
They have started from their rest with a bayonet 
at each breast, 
Those watchers of the west who shall never 
watch again ! 
'T is nought to die, but oh, God's pity on the woe 
Of dying hearts that know they die in vain ! 
Beyond yon backward height that meets their dy- 
ing sight, 
A thousand tents are white, and a slumbering 
army lies. 
" Brown Bess,'' the sergeant cries, as he loads her 

while he dies, 
"Let this devil's deluge reach them, and the good 

old cause is lost." 
He dies upon the word, but his signal gun is heard. 
Yon ambush green is stirred, yon labouring 
leaves are tost. 
And a sudden sabre waves, and like dead from 
opened graves, 
A hundred men stand up to meet a host. 
Dumb as death, with bated breath, 
Calm upstand that fearless band, 

And the dear old native land, like a dream of 
sudden sleep, 



AN EVIiNING DREAM. 83 

Passes by each manly eye that is fixed so stern and 
dry 
On the tide of battle rolling up the steep. 
They hold their silent ground, I can hear each fatal 
sound 
Upon that summer mound which the morning 
sunshine warms, 
The word so brief and shrill that rules them like a 
will. 
The sough of moving limbs, and the clank and 
ring of arms. 
" Fire ! " and round that green knoll the sudden 
war-clouds roll. 
And from the tyrant's ranks so fierce an an- 
sw'ring blast 
Of whirling death came back that the green trees 
turned to black. 
And dropped their leaves in winter as it passed. 
A moment on each side the surging smoke is wide. 
Between the fields are green, and around the 
hills are loud, 
But a shout breaks out, and lo ! they have rushed 
upon the foe. 
As the living lightning leaps from cloud to 
cloud. 
Fire and flash, smoke and crash, 
The fogs of battle close o'er friends and foes, and 

they are gone ! 
Alas, thou bright-eyed boy ! alas, thou mother's joy ! 
With thy long hair so fair, that didst so bravely 
lead them on ! 
I faint with pain and fear. Ah, heaven ! what do 
I hear ? 
A trumpet-note so near ? 
What are these that race like hunters at a chase ? 
Who are these that run a thousand men as 
one ? 
What are these that crash the trees far in the wav- 
ing rear ? 



84 LYRICS. 

Fight on, thou young hero ! there 's help upon the 

way ! 
The hght horse are coming, the great guns are 
coming, 
The Highlanders are coming ; — good God 
give us the day ! 
Hurrah for the brave and the leal ! Hurrah for the 

strong and the true ! 
Hurrah for the helmets of steel ! Hurrah for the 

bonnets o' blue ! 
A run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here! a 
gallop and a cheer, the light horse are here ! 
A rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here ! 

With a cheer they wheel round and face the 
foe! 
As the troopers wheel about, their long swords are 
out, 
With a trumpet and a shout, in they go ! 
Like a yawning ocean green, the huge host gulphs 
them in, 
But high o'er the rolling of the flood, 
Their sabres you may see like lights upon the sea 

When the red sun is going down in blood. 
Again, again, again ! And the lights are on the 
wane ! 
Ah, Christ ! I see them sink, light by light. 
As the gleams go one by one when the great sun is 
down. 
And the sea rocks in foam beneath the night. 
Aye, the great sun is low, and the waves of battle 
flow 
O'er his honoured head ; but, oh, we mourn not 
he is down, 
For to-morrow he shall rise to fill his country's eyes. 

As he sails up the skies of renown ! 
Ye may yell, but ye shall groan ! 
Ye shall buy them bone for bone ! 
Now, tyrant, hold thine own ! blare the trumpet, 
peal the drum ! 



AN EVENING DREAM. 85 

From yonder hill-side dark, the storm is on vou ! 
Hark ! 
Swift as lio;htning, loud as thunder, down they 
come ! 
As on some Scottish shore, with mountains frown- 
ing o'er, 
The sudden tempests roar from the glen. 
And roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee, 

Came the charge of the gallant liighlandmen ! 
And as one beholds the sea tho' the wind he can- 
not see, 
But by the waves that flee knows its might. 
So I tracked the Flighland blast by the sudden tide 
that past 
O'er the wild and rolling vast of the fight. 
Yes, glory be to God ! they have stemmed the fore- 
most flood ! 
I lay me on the sod and breathe again ! 
In the precious moments won, the bngle call has 
gone 
To the tents where it never rang in vain, 
And lo, the landscape wide is re'd from side to side. 
And all the might of England loads the plain ! 
Like a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon 
drawn. 
While the host of darkness holds the misty 
vale, 
As glowing and as grand our bannered legions 
stand. 
And England^ flag unfolds upon the gale ! 
At that great sign unfurled, as morn moves o'er the 
world 
When God lifts His standard of light, 
With a tumult and a voice, and a rushing mighty 
noise, 
Our long line moves forward to the fight. 
Clarion and clarion defying, 
Sounding, resounding, replying, 



86 LYRICS. 

Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neigh 

Near and far 

The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, 

Thro' the bright weather banner and feather rising 
and falling, bugle and fife 

Calling, recalling — for death or for life — 

Our host moved on to the war, 

AVhile England, England, England, England, Eng- 
land ! 

Was blown from line to line near and far, 

And like the morning sea, our bayonets you might 
see. 

Come beamino;, fjleaminw, streaming, 

Streaming, gleaming, beaming. 

Beaming, gleaming, streaming, to the war. 

Clarion and clarion defying. 

Sounding, resounding, replying, 

Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neigh- 
ing, 

Near and far 

The to and fro storm of the never-done hurrahing, 

Thro' the bright weather, banner and feather rising 
and falling, bugle and fife 

Calling, recalling — for death or for life — 

Our long line moved forward to the war. 



IN WAR-TIME. 

A PSALM OF THE HEART. 

Scourge us as Thou wilt, oh Lord God of Hosts ; 
Deal with us. Lord, according to our transgres- 
sions ; 
But give us Victory ! 
Victory, victory ! oh. Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, Victory ! 



A PSALM OF THE HEART. 87 

Lift Thy wrath up from the day of battle, 
And set it on the weight of other days ! 
Draw Thy strength from us for many days, 
So Thou be with us on the day of battle, 
And give us victory. 
Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Let the strong arm be as the flag o' the river, 
The withered flag that flappeth o'er the river. 
When all the flood is dried out of the river ; 

Let the brave heart be as a drunkard's bosom, 
When the thick fume is frozen in the bosom, 
And the bare sin lies shivering in the bosom ; 

Let the bold eye be sick and crazed with mid- 
night. 

Strained and cracked with aching days of mid- 
night. 

Swarmed and foul with creeping shapes of mid- 
night ; 

So Thou return upon the day of battle, 
So we be strong upon the day of battle. 
Be drunk with Thee upon the day of battle, 
So Thou shine o'er us in the day of battle. 
Shine in the faces of our enemies. 
Hot in the faces of our enemies. 
Hot o'er the battle and the victory. 
Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Shame us not, oh Lord, before the wicked ! 
In our hidden places let Thy wrath 
Afflict us ; in the secret of our sin 
Convince us ; be the bones within our flesh 
Harrowed with fire, and all the strings of life 
Strung to the twang of torture ; let the stench 



88 LYRICS. 

Of our own strength torment us ; the desire 

Of our own glorious image in the sea 

Consume us ; shake the darkness like a tr^e, 

And fill the night with mischiefs, — bliglits and 

dwales, 
Weevils, and rots, and cankers ! But, oh Lord, 
Humble us not upon the day of battle. 
Hide not Thy face upon the day of batde, 
Let it shine o'er us on the .day of battle, 
Shine in the faces of our enemies, 
Hot in the faces of our enemies, 
Hot o'er the battle and the victory I . 
Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Tho' Thou shouldst glorify us above measure, 
Yet will we not forget that Thou art God ! 
Honour our land, oh Lord ! honour our land ! 

Be Thou her armour in the day of battle, 
Whereon the sword of man shall strike in vain ! 
For Thou canst find the place and leave no scar, 
Sting of bee, nor fairy-spot nor mole. 
Yet kill the germ within the core of life. 



Oh lead her in the glory of her beauty. 
So that the nations wonder at her beauty ! 
For Thou canst take her beauty by the heart 
And throw the spout of sorrow from the fountain, 
The flood of sorrow thro' the veins of joy. 

Let her soul lobk out of her eyes of glory, 
Lighten, oh Lord, from aAvful eyes of glory ! 
For Thou canst touch the soul upon its throne, 
The fortressed soul upon its guarded throne. 
Nor scorch the sweet air of the populous splendour 
That comes and goes about a leprous king. 



A PSALM OF THE HEART. 89 

Therefore fear not to bless us, oh Lord God ! 

And give us victory ! 

Victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! 

Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Sight of home, if Thou wilt ; kiss of love, 
If Thou wilt; children at the knees of peace. 
If Thou wilt ; parents weeping in the door 
Of welcome, if Thou wilt; but victory, 
Victory, victory ! oh,, Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory ! Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Pangs if Thou wilt, oh Lord ! Death if Thou wilt I 

Labour and famine, frost and fire and storm, 

Silent plague, and hurricane of battle, 

The field-grave, and the woll-grave, and the sea ! 

But victory, victory ! oh, Lord, victory ! 

Oh, Lord, victory 1 Lord, Lord, victory ! 

Consider, Lord, the oppressions of the oppressor, 

And give us victory ! 

The tyrant sitteth on his golden throne 

In palaces of silver, to his gates 

The meeting winds blow good from all the world. 

Who hath undone the mountain where he locks 

His treasure ? In the armoury of hell 

Which engine is not his ? His name infects 

The air of every zone, and to each tongue 

From Hecla to the Ganges adds a word 

That kills all terms of pride. His servants sit 

In empires round his empire ; and outspread 

As land beneath the water, oh, my God, 

His kingdoms bear the half of all Thy stars ! 

Who hath out-told his princes ? Who hath summed 

His captains '? From the number of his hosts 

He should forget a nation and not lack ! 

Therefore, oh Lord God, give us victory ! 



90 LYRICS. 

The serf is in his hut ; the unsacred sire 

Who can bej>et no honour. Lo his mate 

Dim thro' the reekino; garlic — she whose womb 

Doth shape his ignorant shame, and whose young 

slave 
In some far field thickens a knouted hide 
For baser generations. Their dull eyes 
Are choked with feudal welfare ; their rank limbs 
Steam in the stye of plenty; their rude tongues, 
That fill the belly from the common trough, 
Discharge in gobbets of as gross a speech 
That other maw the heart. Nor doth the boor 
Refuse his owner's chattel tho' she breed 
The rich man's increase, nor doth she disdain 
The joyless usage of such limbs as toil 
Yoked with the nobler ox, and take as mute 
A beast's infliction ; at her stolid side 
The girl that shall be such a thing as she. 
Suckles the babe she would not, with the milk 
A bondmaid owes her master. Lord, Thou seest ! 
Therefore, oh Lord God, give us victory ! 

The captive straineth at the dungeon-grate. 

Behold, oh Lord, the secret of the rock. 

The dungeon, and the captive, and the chain ! 

Tho' it be hidden under forest leaves, 

Tho' it be on the mountains among clouds, 

Tho' they point to it as a crag o' the hill, 

And say concerning it that the wind waileth. 

Thou knowest the inner secret and the sin ! 

I see his white face at the dungeon bars. 

As snow between the bars of winter trees. 

He sinketh down upon the dungeon stones, 

His white ffice making light within the dungeon, 

The clasped whiteness of his praying hands 

Flickering a little light within the dungeon. 

And thro' the darkness, thro' the cavern darkness, 

Like to a runnel in a savage wood, 

Stu^eet thro' the horror of the hollow dark 

He sinfjs the sons: of home in the strange land. 



A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 91 

How long, oh Lord of thunder V Victory ! 
Lord God of vengeance, give us victory ! 
Victory, victory ! oh. Lord, victory ! 
Oh, Lord, victory I Lord, Lord, victory ! 



A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 



Rain, rain, sweet warm rain. 

On the wood and on the plain ! 

Rain, rain, warm and sweet. 

Summer wood lush leafy and loud. 

With note of a throat that ripples and rings, 

Sad sole sweet from her central seat, 

Bubbling and trilUng, 

Filling, filling, filling 

The shady space of the gfeen dim place 

With an odour of melody. 

Till all the noon is thrilling, 

And the great wood hangs in the balmy day 

Like a cloud with an angel in the cloud, 

And singing because she sings ! 

In the sheltering wood. 

At that hour I stood ; 

I saw that in that hour 

Great round drops, clear round drops, 

Grew on every leaf and flower, 

And its hue so fairly took 

And faintly, that each tinted elf 

Trembled with a rarer self, 

Even as if its beauty shook 

With passion to a tenderer look. 

Rain, rain, sweet warm rain. 
On the wood and on the plain ! 
Rain, rain, warm and sweet. 



92 LYRICS. 

Summer wood lush leafy and loud, 

With note of a throat that ripples and rings, 

Sad sole sweet from her central seat, 

Bubblino; and trilling, 

Filling, filling, filling 

The shady space of the green dim place 

With an odour of melody, 

Till all the noon is thrilling, 

And the great wood hangs in the balmy day, 

Like a cloud with an angel in the cloud. 

And singing because she sings ! 

Then out of the sweet warm weather 
There came a little wind sighing, sighing : 
Came to the wood sighing, and sighing went in. 
Sighed thro' the green grass, and o'er the leaves 

brown, 
Sighed to the dingle, and, sighing, lay down, 
While all the flowers whispered together. 
Then came swift winds after her who was flying. 
Swift bright winds with a jocund din. 
Sought her in vain, her boscage was so good. 
And spread like bafiled revellers thro' the wood. 
Then, from bough, and leaf, and bell, 
The great round drops, the clear round drops, 
In fitful cadence drooped and fell — 
Drooped and fell as if some wanton air 
Were more apparent here and there, 
Sphered on a favourite flower in dewy kiss, 
Grew heavy with delight and dropped with bliss. 

Rain, rain, sweet warm rain, 
On the wood and on the plain ; 
Rain, rain, still and sweet. 
For the winds have hushed again, 
And the nightingale is still. 
Sleeping in her central seat. 
Rain, rain, summer rain. 
Silent as the summer heat. 



A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 93 

Doth it fall, or dotli it rise ? 
Is it incense from the hill, 
Or bounty from the skies ? 
Or is the face of earth that lies 
Languid, lookino; up on high, 
To the face of Heaven so nigh 
That their balmy breathings meet ? 

Rain, rain, summer rain. 

On the wood and on the plain : 

Rain, rain, rain, until 

The tall wet trees no more athirst, 

As each chalice green doth till. 

See the pigmy nations nurst 

Round their distant feet, and throw 

The nectar to the herbs below. 

The droughty herbs, without a sound, 

Drink it ere it reach the ground. 

Rain, rain, sweet warm rain. 

On the wood and on the plain, 

And round me like a dropping well, 

The great round drops they fell and fell. 

I say not War is good or ill ; 
Perchance they may slay, if they will, 
Who killing love, and loving kill. 

I do not join yon captive's din ; 
Some man among us without sin 
Perhaps may rightly lock him in. 

I do not grant the Tyrant's plea ; 
The slaves potential to be free 
Already are the Powers that be. 

Whether our bloodsheds flow or cease, 
I know that as the years increase, 
The flower of all is human peace. 



94 



" The Flower." Vertumnus hath repute 
O'er Flora; yet methinks the fruit 
But alter ego of the root ; 

And that which serves our fleshly need, 
Subserves the blossom that doth feed 
The soul which Is the life indeed. 

Nor well he deems who deems the rose 
Is for the roseberry, nor knows 
The roseberry is for the rose. 

And Autumn's garnered treasury, 
But prudent Nature's guarantee 
That Summer evermore shall be. 

And yearly, once a year, complete 
That top and culmen exquisite 
Whereto the slanting seasons meet. 

Whether our bloodsheds flow or cease, 
I know that, as the years increase. 
The flower of ail is human peace. 

" The Flower." Yet whether shall we sow 

A blossom or a seed ? I know 

The flower will rot, the seed will grow. 

By this the rain had ceased, and I went forth 
From that Dodona green of oak and beech. 
But ere my steps could reach 
The hamlet, I beheld along the verge 
A flight of fleeing cloudlets that did urge 
Unequal speed, as when a herd is driven 
By the recurring pulse of shoutings loud. 
I saw ; but held the omen of no worth. 
For by the footway not a darnel stirred. 
And still the noon slept on, nor even a bird 
Moved the dull air ; but, at each silent hand, 



A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 95 

Upon the steaming- land 

The have lay basking, and the budded wheat 

Hung slumberous heads of sleep. 

Then I was 'ware that a great northern cloud 

Moved slowly to the centre of the heaven. 

His white head was so high 

That the great blue fell round him like the 

wide 
And ermined robe of kings. He sat in pride 
Lonely and cold ; but methought when he 

spied 
From that severe inhospitable height 
The distant dear delight, 
The melting world with summer at her side, 
His pale brow mellowed with a mournful light, 
And like a marble god he wept his stony tears. 
The loyal clouds that sit about his feet, 
All in their courtier kinds. 
Do weep to see him weep. 
After the priceless drops the sycophant winds 
Leap headlong down, and chase, and swirl, 

and sweep 
Beneath the royal grief that scarce may reach the 
ground. 
To see their whirling zeal. 
Unlikely things that in the kennel lie 
Begin to wheel and wheel ; 
The wild tarantula will spreads far and nigh, 
And spinning straws go spiral to the sky. 
And leaves long dead leap up and dance their 
ghastly round. 
And so it happened in the street 
'Neath a broad eave I stood and mused again, 
And all the arrows of the driving rain 
Were tipped with slanting sleet. 
I mused beneath the straw pent of the bricked 
And sodded cot, with damp moss mouldered 
o'er, 



96 LYRICS. 

The bristled thatch gleamed with a carcanet, 
And from the inner eaves the reeking wet 
Dripped ; dropping more 

And more, as more the sappy roof was sapped, 
And wept a mirkier wash that splashed and 

clapped 
The plain-stones, dribbling to the flooded door. 
A plopping pool of droppings stood before, 
Worn by a weeping age in rock of easy grain. 
O'erhead, hard by, a pointed beam o'erlapped, 
And from its jewelled tip 
The slipping slippmg drip 
Did whip the fillipped pool whose hopping plashes 

ticked. 

Let one or thousands loose or bind. 
That land 's enslaved whose sovran mind 
Collides the conscience of mankind. 

And free — whoever holds the rood — 
Where Might in Right, and Power in Good, 
Flow each in each, like life in blood. 

The age has broken from his kings ! 
Stop him ! Behold his feet have wings. 
Upon his back the hero springs. 

Tho' Jack's horse run away with Jack, 
Who knows, while Jack keeps on his back, 
If Jack rule him or he rule Jack '? 

Cuckoo takes the mud away ! 
True the sun doth shine all day ; 
Cuckoo takes the mud away. 

Who sneers at heirloom rank ? God knows 
Each man that lives, each flower that blows. 
There may be lords — and a blue rose. 



A SHOWER IN WAR-TIME. 97 

Even to the sod whereon you prate 
This land is ours. Do you debate 
How we shall manage our estate ? 

Norman, War granted you your lease : 
The very countersign of Peace 
Shows the first Lessor can release. 

Therefore altho' you cannot guide, 
Be wise ; and spare the almighty pride 
Of that mild monster that you ride. 

If England's head and heart were one, 
Where is that good beneath the sun 
Her noble hands should leave undone ! 

Small unit, hast thou hardiness 
To bid mankind to battle ? Yes. 
The worm will rout them, and is less. 

The world assaults ? Nor fight nor fly. 
Stand in some steadfast truth, and eye 
The stubborn siege grow old and die. 

My army is mankind. My foe 
The very meanest truth I know. 
Shall I come back a conqueror ? No. 

Wouldst light ? See Phosphor shines confest, 
Turn thy broad back upon the west ; 
Stand firm. The world will do the rest. 

Stand firm. Unless thy strength can climb 
Yon alp, and from that height subhme 
See, ere we see, the advancing time. 

Act for to-day ? Friend, this " to-day " 
Washed Adam's feet and streams away 
Far into yon eternity. 

7 



98 LYRICS. 

Build as men steer, by chart and pole ; 
Care for each stone as each were sole, 
Yet lay it conscious of the whole. 

Sow with the signs. The wise man heeds 
The seasons. Capricornus feeds 
Upon the sluggard's winter seeds. 

Each enterprise, or small or great, 
Hath its own touchhole ; watch and wait. 
Find that and fire the loaded fate. 

Do in few acts whate'er thou dost ; 
Let thy foe play to his own cost, 
Who moves the oftenest errs the most. 

Choose arms from Nature's armouries, 
Plagues, conflagrations, storms and seas, 
For God is surety for all these. 

Our town is threatened by a bear, 

We 've manned the thresholds far and near, 

Fools ! send five men to kill the bear. 

Do good to him that hates thee. Good, 
Still good. By physic or by food ? 
By letting or by stanching blood ? 

Do as thou wouldst be done by. See 
What it were well he did to thee. 
He pure as thou, thou foul as he. 

Lovest thou not Peace ? Aye, moralist, 
Both Peace and thee. Yet well I wist 
They who shut Janus did slay Christ. 



A PRAYER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 99 

IN WAR-TIME. 

A PRAYER OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 

Lo, this is night. Hast thou, oh sun, refused 
Thy countenance, or is thy golden arm 
Shortened, or from thy shining place in heaven 
Art thou put down and lost ? Neither hast thou 
Refused thy constant face, nor is thine arm 
Shortened, nor from thy principality 
Art thou deposed, oh sun. Ours, ours, the sin, 
The sorrow. From thy steadfast noon we turned 
Into the eastern shade — and this is night. 

Yet so revolves the axle of the world. 
And by that brief aversion wheels us round 
To morn, and rolls us on the larger paths 
Of annual duty. Thou observant moon, 
That dancest round the seasonable earth 
As David round the ark, but half thy ring 
Is process, yet, complete, the circular whole 
Promotes thee, and expedes thy right advance. 
And all thy great desire of summer signs. 

And thou, oh sun, our centre, who thyself 

Art satellite, and, conscious of the far 

Archelion, in obedience of free will 

And native duty, as the good man walks 

Among the children's faces, Avith thine house 

About thee, least and greatest, first and last, 

Makest of the blue eternal holiday 

Thy glad perambulation ; and thou, far 

Archelion, feudatory still, of one 

Not sovran nor in fee of paramount power ; 

Moons round your worlds, worlds round your suns, 

suns round 
Such satraps as in orderly degree 



100 LYRICS. 

Confess a lordlier regent and pervade 

A vaster cycle — ye, so moved, comraoved. 

Revolving and convolving, turn the heavens 

Upon the pivot of that summary star. 

Centre of all we know : and thou, oh star. 

Centre of all we know, chief crown of crowns, 

Who art the one in all, the all in one. 

And seest the ordered whole — nought uninvolved 

But all involved to one direct result 

Of multiform volution — in one pomp 

One power, one tune, one time, upon one path 

Move with thee moving, Thou, amid thy host 

Marchest — ah whither ? 

Oh God, before Whom 

We marshal thus Thy legioned works to take 

The secret of Thy counsel, and array 

Congress and progress, and, with multitude 

As conquerors and to conquer, in consent 

Of universal law, approach Thy bound. 

Thine immemorial bound, and at Thy face 

Heaven and earth flee away ; oh Thou Lord God, 

Whether, oh absolute existence, Thou 

The Maker, makest, and this fair we see 

Be but the mote and dust of that unseen 

Unsought unsearchable ; or whether Thou 

Wliose goings forth are from of old, around 

Thy going in mere effluence without care 

Breathest creation out into the cold 

Beyond Thee, and, within Thine ambient breath, 

So walkest everlasting as we walk 

The unportioned snows ; or whether, meditating 

Eternity, self-centred, self-fulfilled. 

Self-continent, Thou thinkest and we live, 

A little while forge ttest and we fade, 

Rememberest and we are, and this bright vision 

Wherein we move, nay all our total sum 

And story, be to Thee as to a man 

When in the drop and rising of a lid 

Lo the swift rack and fashion of a dream, 



A HEEO'S GRAVE. 101 

No more ; oh Thou inscrutable, whose ways 

Are not as ours, whose form we know not, voice 

Hear not, true work behold not, mystery 

Conceive not, who — as thunder shakes the world 

And rings a silver bell — hast sometime moved 

The tongue of man, but in Thy proper speech 

Wearest a human language on a word 

As limpets on a rock, who, as Eternal, 

Omnipotential, Infinite, Allwise, 

In measure of Thine operation hast 

No prime or term, in subject as in scheme 

No final end, in eidol as in act 

Nought but the perfect God ; oh Thou Supreme, 

Inaudible, Invisible, Unknown, 

Thy will be done. 



A HERO'S GRAVE. 

O'er our evening fire the smoke is like a pall. 
And funeral banners hang about the arches of the 

hall. 
In the gable end I see a catafalque aloof. 
And night is drawn up like a curtain to the girders 

of the roof 

Thou knowest why we silent sit, and why our eyes 

are dim. 
Sing us such proud sorrow as we may hear for him. 

Reach me the old harp that hangs between the 

flags he won, 
I will sing what once I heard beside the grave of 

such a son. 

My son, my son, 

A father's eyes are looking on thy grave. 

Dry eyes that look on this green mound and see 



102 LYRICS. 

The low weed blossom and the long grass wave, 
Without a single tear to them or thee, 
My son, my son. 

Why should I weep ? The grass is grass, the 

weeds 
Are weeds. The emmet hath done thus ere now. 
I tear a leaf; the green blood that it bleeds 
Is cold. What have 1 here ? Where, where, art 

thou, 
My son, my son ? 

On which tall trembler shall the old man lean ? 
Which chill leaf shall lap o'er him when he lies 
On that bed where in visions I have seen 
Thy filial love ? or, when thy father dies. 
Tissue a fingered thorn to close his childless eyes? 

Aye, where art thou ? Men, tell me of a fame 
Walking the wondering nations ; and they say, 
When thro' the shouting people thy great name 
Goes like a chief upon a battle-day. 
They shake the heavens with glory. Well-away ! 

As some poor hound that thro' thronged street and 

square 
Pursues his loved lost lord, and fond and fast 
Seeks what he feels to be but feels not where. 
Tracks the dear feet to some closed door at last, 
And lies him down and lornest looks doth cast. 

So I, thro' all the long tumultuous days. 
Tracing thy footstep on the human sands. 
O'er the signed deserts and the vocal ways 
Pursue thee, faithful, thro' the echoing lands, 
Wearing a wandering statf with trembling hands : 

Thro' echoing lands that ring with victory, 
And answer for the living with the dead, 



A hero's grave. 103 

And give me marble when I ask for bread, 
And give me glory when I ask for thee — 
It was not glory I nursed on my knee. 

And now, one stride behind thee, and too late, 
Yet true to all that reason cannot kill, 
I stand before the inexorable gate 
And see thy latest footstep on the sill, 
And know thou canst not come but watch and 
wait thee still. 

" Old man ! " — Ah, darest thou ? yet thy look is 

kind, 
Didst thou, too, love him ? " Thou grey-headed 

sire, 
Seest thou this path which from that grave doth 

wind 
Far thro' those western uplands higher and higher, 
Till, like a thread, it burns in the great fire 

" Of sunset ? The wild sea and desert meet 
Eastward by yon unnavigable strand, 
Then wherefore hath the flow of human feet 
Left this dry runnel of memorial sand 
Meandering thro' the summer of the land ? 

" See where the long immeasurable snake. 
Between dim hall and hamlet, tower and shed. 
Mountain and mountain, precipice and lake. 
Lies forth unfinished to this final head. 
This green dead mound of the unfading dead ! " 

Do they then come to weep thee ? Do they kiss 
Thy relics ? Art thou then as wholly gone 
As some old buried saint ? My son, my son, 
Ah, could I mourn thee so ! Such tears were bliss ! 
" Old man, they do not mourn who weep at graves 
like this." 



104 LYRICS. 

They do not mourn ? What ! hath the insolent 

foe 
Found out my child's last bed ? Who, who, are 

they 
That come and go about him ? I cry, " Who ? " 
I am his father — I ; — I cry " Who ? " " Aye 
Grey trembler, I will tell thee who are they. 

" The slave who, having grown up strong and stark 
To the set season, feels at length he wears 
Bonds that will break, and thro' the slavish dark 
Shines with the light of liberated years, 
And still in chains doth weep a freeman's tears. 

" The patriot, while the unebbed force that hurled 
His tyrant throbs within his bursting veins, 
And, on the ruins of a hundred reigns. 
That ancient heaven of brass, so long unfurled, 
Falls with a crash of fame that fills the world. 
And thro' the clangour lo the unwonted strains 
Of peace, and, in the new sweet heavens upcurled, 
The sudden incense of a thousand plains. 

" Youth whom some mighty flash from heaven hath 

turned 
In his dark highway, and who runs forth, shod 
With flame, into the wilderness untrod. 
And as he runs his heart of flint is burned. 
And in that glass he sees the face of God, 
And falls upon his knees — and morn is all abroad. 

" Age who hath heard amid his cloistered ground 
The cheer of youth, and steps from echoing aisles. 
And at a sight the great blood with a bound 
Melts his brow's winter, which the free sun smiles 
To jewels, and he stands a young man crowned 
With glittering years among a young world shout- 
inu round. 



A hero's grave. 105 

" Girls that do blush and tremble with deliojht 
On the St. John's eve of* their maidenhood ; 
When the unsumraered woman in her blood 
Glows through the Parian maid, and at the sight 
The flushing virgin weeps and feels herself too 
bright. 

" He who first feels the world-old destiny, 

The shaft of gold that strikes the poet still, 

And slowly in its victim melts away, 

Who knows his wounds will heal but when they 

kill, 
And drop by vital drop doth bleed his golden ill. 

" All whom the ever-passing mysteries 

Have rapt above the region of our race, 

And, blinded by the glory and the grace 

Break from the ecstatic sphere — as he who dies 

In darkness, and in heaven's own light doth rise. 

Dazed with the untried glory of the place 

Looks up and sees some well-remembered face, 

And thro' the invulnerable angels flies 

To that dear human breast and hides his dazzled 



" All who, like the sun-ripened seed that springs 
And bourgeons in the sun, do hold profound 
An antenatal stature, which the round 
Of the dull continent flesh hath cribbed and wound 
Into this kernelled man ; but having found 
Such soil as grew them, burst in blossomings 
Not native here, or, from the hallowed ground, 
Tower their slow height, and spread, like shelter- 
ing wings. 
Those boughs wherein the bird of omen sings 
High as the pahns of heaven, while to the sound 
Lo kingdoms jocund in the sacred bound 
Till the world's summer fills her moon, and brings 
The final fruit which is the feast and fate of kings. 



106 LYRICS. 

" And darest thou mourn ? Thy bones are left 

behind, 
But where art thou, Anchises V Dost thou see 
Him wlio once bare the slow paternity, 
Foot-burnt o'er stony Troy V So, thou, reclined 
Goest thro' the falling years. Here, here where 

we 
Two stand, lies deep the flesh thou hast so pined 
To clasp, and shalt clasp never. Verily, 
Love and the worm are often of one mind ! 
God save them from election ! Pity thee ? 
True he lifts not thy load, but he hath signed 
And at his beck a nation rose up free ; 
Thy wounds his living love may never bind, 
But at the dead man's touch posterity 
Is healed. To thee, thou poor, and halt, and blind, 
He is a staff no more : but times to be 
Lean on his monumental memory 
As the moon on a mountain. Thou shalt find 
A silent home, a cheerless hearth : but he 
Shall be a fire which the enkindling wind, 
Blowing for ever from eternity. 
Fans till its universal blaze hath shined 
The yule of thankful ages. Pity thee ? 
A son is lost to thine infirmity ; 
Poor fool, what then ? A son thou hast resigned 
To give a father to the virtues of mankind." 



IN WAR-TIME. 

AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT. 

Lord Jesus, as a little child. 
Upon some high ascension day 
When a great people goes to pay 

Allegiance, and the tumult wild 



AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT. 107 

Roars by its thousand streets, and fills 
The billowy nation on the plain, 
As roar into the heaving main 

A thousand torrents from the hills. 

Caught in the current of the throng 
> Is drawn beneath the closing crowd, 
And, drowning in the human flood, 
Is whirled in its dark depths along ; 

And low under the ruthless feet, 

Or high as to the awful knees 

Of giants that he partly sees, 
Blinded with fear and faint with heat. 

Mindless of all but what doth seem. 
And shut out from the upper light, 
Maddens within a monstrous night 

Of limbs that crush him like a dream ; 

And when his strength no more can stand. 
And while he sinks in his last swound. 
Is lifted from the deadly ground. 

And led by a resistless hand. 

And thro' the opening agony 

Goes on and knows not where, beside 
The mastery of his guardian guide, 

Goes on, and knows not where nor why, 

Till, when the sky no more is hid, 
Between the rocking heads he sees 
A mount that rises by degrees 

Above them like a pyramid. 

And on the summit of the mount 

A vacant throne, and round the throne 
Bright-vestured princes, zone by zone, 

In circles that he cannot count, 



108 



And feels, at length, a slanting way, 
And labours by his guardian good 
Till forth, as from a lessening wood, 

They step into the dazzling day, 

And from the mount he sees below 
The marvel of the marshalled plain. 
And what was tumult is a reign, 

And, as he climbs, the princes know 

His guide, and fall about his feet, 
Before his face the courtiers fall. 
And lo ! it is the Lord of all. 

And on his throne he takes his seat ; 

And, while strong fears transfix the boy. 
The mighty people far and near 
Throw up upon the eye and ear 

The flash and thunder of their joy. 

And, round the royal flag unfurled, 
In sequent love and circling awe 
The legions lead their living law. 

And what was Chaos is a World : 

So, Lord, Thou seest this mortal me, 

Deep in Titanic days that press 

Licessant from unknown access 
To issues that I cannot see. 

Caught in the current stern and strong 
I sink beneath the closing crowd, 
And drowning in the awful flood 

Am whirled in its dark depths along, 

Struggling with shows so thronged and thrust 
On these wide eyes which bruise and burn, 
And flash with half-seen sights, or turn 

To that worse darkness thick with dust, 



AN ASPIRATION OF THE SPIRIT. 109 

That mindful of but what doth seem, 

And hopeless of the upper light, 

I madden in a monstrous night 
Of shapes that crush me like a dream. 

Then when my strength no more can stand. 
And while I sink in my last swound, 
Lo ! I am lifted from the ground, 

And led by a resistless hand ; 

And thro' the opening agony 

Go on and know not where, beside 

The mastery of my guardian guide, 
Go on, and know not where or why ; 

Nor, tho' I cannot see Thy brow, 
Distrust the hand I feel so dear. 
Nor question how Thou wert so near. 

Nor ask Thee whither goest Thou, 

Nor whence Thy footsteps first began. 

Whence, Lord, Thou knowest : whither. Lord, 
Thou knowest : how Thou knowest. Oh Word 

That can be touched, oh Spoken Man, 

Enough, enough, if Thou wilt lead, 

To know Thou knowest: enough to know 
That darkling at Thy side I go, 

And this strong hand is Thine indeed. 

Yet by that side, unspent, untrod. 

Oh let me, clinging still to Thee, 

Between the swaying wonders see 
The throne upon the mount of God. 

And — tho' they close before mine eye. 
And all my course is choked and shut — 
Feel Time grow steeper under foot, 

And know the final height is nigh. 



110 



And as one sees, thro' cambered straits 
Of forests, on his forward way, 
Horizons green of coloured day. 

Oh let me thro' the crowding Fates 

Behold the light of skies unseen, 
Till on that sudden Capitol 
I step forth to the sight of all 

That is, and shall be, and hath been, 

And Thou, oh King, shalt take Thine own 
Triumphant ; and, Thy place fulfilled, 
The flaw of Nature shall be healed. 

And joyous round Thy central throne 

I see the vocal ages roll, 
And all the human universe 
Like some great symphony rehearse 

The order of its perfect whole ; 

And seek in vain where once I fell, 
Nor know the anarchy I knew 
In those congenial motions due 

Of this great work where all is well, 

And smile, with dazzled wisdom dumb, 
— Remembering all I said and sung — 
That man asks more of mortal tongue 

Than skill to say, " Thy kingdom come." 



THE MOTHER'S LESSON. 

Come hither an' sit on my knee, Willie, 
Come hither an' sit on my knee. 
An' list while I tell how your brave brither fell, 
Fechtin' for you an' for me : 



THE mother's lesson. Ill 

Fechtin' for you an' for me, Willie, 
Wi' his guid sword in his han'. 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, WilHe, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 

Ye min' o' your ain brither dear, Willie, 

Ye min' o' your ain brither dear, 

How he pettled ye aye wi' his pliskies an' play, 

An' was aye sae eantie o' cheer : 

Aye sae eantie o' cheer, Willie, 

As he steppit sae tall an' sae gran'. 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

D' ye min' when the bull had ye doun, Willie, 
D' ye min' when the bull had ye doun ? 
D' ye min' wha grippit ye fra the big bull, 
D' ye min' o' his muckle red woun' ? 
D' ye min' o' his muckle red woun', Willie, 
D' ye min' how the bluid doun ran ? 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

D' ye min' when we a' wanted bread, Willie, 

The year when we a' wanted bread ? 

How he smiled when he saw the het parrltch an' a', 

An' gaed cauld an' toom to his bed : 

Gaed awa' toom to his bed, Willie, 

For the love o' wee Willie an' Nan ? 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 

Next simmer was bright but an' ben, Willie, 

Next simmer was bright but an' ben. 

When there cam a gran' cry like a win' Strang an' 

high 
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen : 
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen, Willie, 
The cry o' a far forrin Ian', 



112 LYRICS. 

An' up loupit ilka brave man, Willie, 
Up loupit ilka brave man. 

For the voice cam saying, " Wha '11 gang ? " Willie, 

The voice cam saying, " Wha '11 gang 

To fecht owre the sea that the slave may be free, 

An' the weak be safe fra' the Strang ? " 

The weak be safe fra' the Strang, Willie ; 

Rab looked on Willie an' Nan, 

An' hech, but he was a brave man, Willie, 

Hcch, but he was a brave man ! 

I kent by his een he was gaun, Willie, 

I kent by his een he was gaun, 

An' he rose like a chief: twice we spak in our 

grief — 
" Dinna gang ! " " My mither, I maun ! " 
When he said, " My mither, I maun," Willie, 
I gied him his sword to his han'. 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 

An' sae it happened afar, Willie, 

Sae it happened afar. 

In the dead midnight there rose a great fecht. 

An' Rab was first i' the war : 

First i' the haur o' the war, Willie, 

Wi' his guid sword in his han' ! 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye 11 be a brave man ! 

An' there cam' a dark wicked lord, Willie, 

There cam' a dark wicked lord. 

An' oh my guid God ! on my bauld bairn he rode, 

An' smote him wi' his sword : 

Smote him wi' his sword, Willie, 

But Rab had his guid sword in han' ! 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 



THK mother's lesson. 113 

He rushed on the fae in his might, Willie, 

In his might to the fecht thro' the night, 

An' he grippit him grim, an' the fae grippit him, 

An' they rolled owre i' the fecht : 

They rolled owre i' the fecht, Willie, 

Rab wi' his guid sword in han' ! 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Heeh, but ye 'U be a brave man ! 

When the gran' stowre cleared awa', Willie, 

When the gran' stowre cleared awa', 

An' the mornin' drew near in chitter an' in fear. 

Still, still, in death they lay twa : 

Still, still, in death they lay twa, Willie, 

Rab wi' his guid sword in han' ! 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

Then up fra the death-sod they bore him, Willie, 

The young men an' maidens they bore him, 

An' they mak the rocks ring 'gin my bairn were a 

king, 
An' a' the sweet lassies greet owre him : 
A' the sweet lassies greet owre him, Willie, 
An' their proud lips kiss his cauld han', 
Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

An' they big him a green grass grave, Willie, 

They big him a green grass grave. 

My ain lad ! my ain ! an' they write on the stane, 

" Wha wad na sleep wi' the brave ? " 

An' wha wad na sleep wi' the brave, Willie ? 

Wha wad na dee for his Ian' ? 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man ! 

Noo come to yon press wi' me, Willie, 
Come to yon press wi' me, 
8 



114 LYRICS. , 

And I '11 show ye somethin' o' auld lang syne, 
When he was a bairnie like thee : 
When he was a bairnie like thee, Willie, 
And stood at my knee where ye stan', 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

D' ye see this wee bit bannet, Willie, 
— I min' weel the day it was new — 
See how I hand it here to my heart. 
His wee bit bannet o' blue : 
His wee bit bannet o' blue, Willie, 
Wi' its wee bit cookie an' ban' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

D' ye see his ba' and his stickie, Willie, 

When he played at the ba' ; 

Na, na, ye 're no to tak it in han'. 

Ye 're no sae brave an' sae braw ! 

But gin ye grow braw an' brave, Willie, 

Aiblins I 'se gie 't to your han', 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

An' this was his Guid Bulk, Willie, 

The Guid Bulk that he lo'ed, 

Where he read the Word o' the great guid Lord 

Wha bought us wi' His bluid. 

An' will we spare our bluid, Willie, 

To buy the dear auld Ian' ? 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

They say he 's dead an' gane, Willie, 
They say he 's dead an' gane. 
Wad God my bairnies a' were sons, 
That ten might gang for ane : 
Ten might gang for ane, Willie, 



THE mother's lesson. 115 

To save the dear auld Ian' ! 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Heeh, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

I 'd no be lorn an' lane, Willie, 

I 'd no be lorn an' lane, 

For gin I had him here by the han' 

He could na be mair my ain : 

He 'd no be mair my ain, Willie, 

Gin 1 grippit him by the han' ! 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

An' oh ! gin ye gang fra me, Willie, 

Gin ye gang as he gaed fra me, 

Ye '11 aye be still as near to my heart 

As the noo when ye sit on my knee : 

As the noo when ye sit on my knee, Willie, 

An' I baud ye by the han'. 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

" An' wad ye no greet at a', mither ? 
Wad ye no greet at a' ? " 
Aye, wad I greet my bonnie bonnie bairn ! 
" An' will ye no greet when I fa' ? " 
Will I no greet when ye fa', Willie ? 
God bless your bonnie wee han' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
I kent weel ye 'd be a brave man ! 

Aye, will I greet day an' night, Willie, 

Aye, "will 1 greet day an' night ! 

But gin ye can see fra your heaven doun to me, 

Ye 'se no be wae at the sight : 

Ye 'se no be wae at the sight, Willie, 

E'en in your bright blessed Ian' ! 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

I kent weel ye 'd be a brave man. 



116 LYKICS. 

Ye ken how I greet sae sair, Willie, 

Ye ken how I greet sae sair, 

When ye 're no my ain guid bairnie the day, 

An' my een are cloudy wi' care : 

My een are cloudy wi' care, Willie, 

An' 1 lean doun my head on my han', 

An' think " Will ye be a guid man, .Willie, 

Ah, will ye grow a guid man ? " 

Ye ken when I did na greet sae, Willie, 
Ye ken when I did na greet sae !" 
Gran' gran' are a proud mither's tears, 
An' the gate that she gangs in her wae : 
The gate that she gangs in her wae, Willie, 
Wi' her foot on her ain proud Ian' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

Ye min' how ye saw me greet, Willie, 
Ye rain' how ye saw me greet, 
When the great news cam' to the toun at e'en. 
An' we heard the shout in the street : 
We heard the shout in the street, Willie, 
An' the death-word it rode an' it ran. 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

Ye min' how I lift up mine ee', Willie, 

Ye min' how I lift up mine ee'. 

An' smiled as I smile when I stan' i' the door, 

An' see ye come toddlin' to me : 

See ye come toddlin' to me, Willie, 

An' smile afar off where I stan'. 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 

Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

Thank God for ilk tear I let fa', Willie, 

Thank God for ilk tear I let fa', 

For oh, where they wipe awa' tears fra' a' een, 



THE mother's lesson. 117 

Sic tears they wad no wipe awa' : 
Sic tears they wad no wipe awa', Willie, 
Tho' there 's nane may be sad i' that Ian' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

Noo to your play ye maun gang, Willie, 

Noo to your play ye maun gang. 

An' belyve, my ain wee, ye '11 come back to my 

knee, 
And I 'se sing ye an auld Scots sang : 
I 'se sing ye an auld Scots sang, Willie, 
A sang o' the dear auld Ian' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

An' aye d' ye min' what I say, Willie, 
What ye heard your auld mither say, 
Better to dee a brave man an' free, 
.Than to live a fause coward for aye: 
Than to live a fause coward for aye, Willie, 
An' Stan' by the shame o' your Ian' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, W^illie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 

It 's brave to be first at the schule. 
It 's brave to be cock o' the class. 
It 's brave to thwack a Strang fule, 
It 's brave to win a wee lass. 
It 's brave to be first wi' the pleugh, 
An' first i' the reel an' strathspey. 
An' first at the tod i' the cleugh. 
An' first at the stag at bay. 

It 's brave to be laird o' the glen. 

It 's brave to be chief o' the clan, 

But he that can dree for his neebor to dee. 

Oh, he 's the true brave man : 

He 's the true brave man, Willie, 



Ill 



An' the fame o' his name sail be gran' ! 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man, Willie, 
Hech, but ye '11 be a brave man. 



ALONE. 

There came to me softly a small wind from the 

sea, 
And it lifted a curl as It passed by me. 
But I sang sorrow and ho the heavy day ! 
And I sang heigho and well-away ! 

Again there came softly a small wind from the sea. 
And It lifted a curl as it passed by me. 
And still I sang sorrow and ho the heavy day ! 
And I sang heigho and well-away ! 

Once more there came softly- that small wind from 

the sea, 
And it lifted a curl as it passed by me. 
I hushed my song of sorrow and ho the heavy day, 
And I hushed my heigho and well-away. 

Then, when I was silent, that small wind from the 

sea. 
It came the fourth time tenderly to me ; 
To me, to me. 
Sitting by the sea. 

Sitting sad and solitary thinking of thee. 
Like warm lips It touched me — that soft wind 

from the sea, 
And I trembled and wept as it passed by me. 



FAREWELL. 119 



FAREWELL. 



Hear me, hear me, now ! 

By this heaven less pure than thou 

Fare thee well ! 

By this living light 

Less bright, 

Fare thee well ! 

By the boundless sea 

Of mine agony, 

Fare thee well! 

That unfathomed sea 

Which must roll from me to thee. 

Must roll from thee to me. 

Fare thee well I 

By the tears that I have bled for thee. 

Farewell ! 

By the life's-blood I will shed for tliee, 

Farewell ! 

By that field of death and fear 

Where I '11 fight with sword and spear 

The fight I 'm fighting here, 

Fare thee well ! 

By a form amid the storm, 
Fare thee well ! 
By a sigh above the cry, 
Fare thee well ! 

By the war-cloud and the shout 
That shall wrap me round about, 
But can never shut thee out, 
Fare thee^well ! 



120 LYRICS. 

By the wild and bloody close, 
When I loose this hell of woes, 
And these fires shall eat our foes, 
Fare thee well ! 

By all thou 'It not forget, 
Fare thee well ! 
By the joy when first we met. 
Fare thee well ! 

By the mighty love and pain 
Of the frantic arms that strain 
What they ne'"er shall clasp again 
Fare thee well ! 

By the bliss of our first kiss, 
Fare thee well I 
By the locked love of our last. 
Till a passion like a blast 
Tore the future from the past, 
Fare thee well ! 

By the nights that I shall weep for thee. 

Farewell I 

By the vigils I shall keep for thee. 

Farewell ! 

By the memories that will beam of thee, 

Farewell ! 

By the dreams that I shall dream of thee, 

Farewell ! 

By the passion when I wake 

Of this heart that will not break, 

That can bleed but cannot break. 

Fare thee well I 

By that holier woe of thine. 
Fare thee well ! 

By thy love more pure than mine, 
Fare thee well I 



SLEEPING AND WAKING. 121 

By the days thou shalt hold dear for me, 
The lone life thou shalt bear for me, 
The gray hairs thou shalt wear for me, 
Farewell ! 

By thy good deeds offered up for me. 

Farewell ! 

When thou fillest the wanderer's cup for me, 

Farewell ! 

When thou givest the hungry bread for me, 

Farewell ! 

When thou watchest by the dead for me, 

Farewell ! 

By the faith of thy pure eyes, 

By the hopes that shall arise 

Day and night to the deaf skies, 

Fare thee well ! 

By that faith I cannot share, 
Fare thee well ! 

By this hopeless heart's despair. 
Fare thee well ! 

By the days I have been glad for thee. 
The years 1 shall be sad for thee, 
The hours I shall be mad for thee, 
Farewell ! 



SLEEPING AND WAKING. 

I HAD a dream — I lay upon thy breast. 
In that sweet place where we lay long ago : 
I thought the morning woodbine to and fro 
With playful shadows whipped away my rest, 
And in my sleej^ I cried to thee, too blest. 



122 LYRICS. 

" Rise, oh my love, the morning sun is bright. 
Let us arise, oh love, let us arise ; 
The flowers awake, the lark is in the skies, 
I will array myself in my dehght. 
And we will — " and I woke to death and night ! 



" HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY." 

'T WAS in that island summer where 

They spin the morning gossamer, 

And weave the evening mist. 

That, underneath the hawthorn-tree, 

I loved my love, and my love loved me. 

And there we lay and kissed. 

And saw the happy ships upon the yielding sea. 

Soft my heart, and warm his wooing, 

What we did seemed, while 't was doing. 

Beautiful and wise ; 

Wiser, fairer, more in tune. 

Than all else in that sweet June, 

And sinless as the skies 

That warmed the willing earth thro' all the languid 



Ah that fatal spell ! 
Ere the evening fell 
I fled away to hide my frightened face, 
And cried that I was born, 
And sobbed with love and scorn. 
And in the darkness sought a darker place. 
And blushed, and wept, and blushed, and dared 
not think of morn. 

Day and night, day and night. 
And I saw no light, 



"HE LOVKS AND HE RIDES AWAY." 123 

Night and day, night and day, 

And in my woe I lay 

And dreamed the dreams they dream who cannot 

sleep : 
My speech was withered, and I could not pray ; 
My tears were frozen, and I could not weep. 

I saw the hawthorn rise 

Between me and the skies, 

I felt the shadow was from pole to pole, 

I felt the leaves were shed, 

I felt the birds were dead, 

And on the earth I snowed the winter of my soul. 

Like to the hare wide eyed, 

That with her throbbing side 

Pressed to the rock awaits the coming cry, 

In my despair I sate 

And waited for my fate ; 

And as the hunted hare returns to die, 

And with her latest breath 

Regains her native heath, 

So, when I heard the feet of destiny 

Near and more near, and caught the yelp of death. 

Toward the sounding sea. 

Toward my hawthorn-tree. 

Under the ignorant stars I darkly crept : 

" There," I said, " they '11 find me dead, 

Lying within my maidenhead." 

And at my own unwonted voice, I wept ; 

And for my great heart-ache. 

Within a little brake 

I lay me weary down and weary slept, 

Nor ever oped mine eyes till morn had left the lake. 

Her morning bath was o'er. 

And on the golden shore 

She stood like Flora with her floral train, 

And all her track was seen 



124 LYRICS. 

Among the watery sheen, 

That blushed, and wished, and blushing wished 

again, 
And parted still, and closed, with pleasure that had 

been. 

Oh the happy isle, 

The universal smile 

That met, as love meets love, the smile of day, 

And touched and lit delight 

Within the common light, 

Till all the joy of life was eestacy, 

And morn's wild maids ran each her flowery way. 

And shook her dripping locks o'er hill, and dale, 

and lea ! 
" At least," I said, " my tree is sear and blight. 
My tree, my hawthorn-tree ! " 

With downcast eyes of fear 

I drew me near and near. 

Dazed with the dewy glory of the hour. 

Til! under-foot I see 

A flower too dear to me : 

I pause, and raise my full eyes from the flower. 

And lo ! my hawthorn-tree ! 

As a white-limbed may. 

In some illumined bay, 

Flings round her shining charms in starry rain, 

And with her body bright 

Dazzles the waters white. 

That fall from her fair form, and flee in vain. 

Dyed with the dear unutterable sight. 

And circle out her beauty thro' the circling main, 

So my hawthorn-tree 

Stood and seemed to me 

The very face that smiled the summer smile : 

All lesser linht-bearers 



"HE LOVES AND HE RIDES AWAY." 125 

Did light their lamps at hers — 

She lit her own at heaven's, and looked the while 

A purer sweeter sun, 

Whence beauty was begun, 

And blossomed from her blossoms thro' the blos- 
soming isle. 

Then I took heart, and as I looked upon 

Her unstained white, I said, " I am not wholly 
vile." 

Thus my hawthorn-tree 
Was my witness unto me, 
And so I answered my impleading sin 
Till blossom-time was o'er, 
And with the autumn roar 
Mine unrebuked accuser entered in, 
And I fell down convinced, and strove with shame 
no more. 

Some time after came to me, 

An image of the hawthorn-tree, 

And bore the old sweet witness ; and I heard. 

And from among the dead 

I lifted up my head, 

As one lifts up to hear a little bird. 

And finds the night is past and all the east is red. 

Small and fair, choice and rare, 

Snowy pale with moonlight hair. 

My little one blossoms and springs ! 

Like joy with woe singing to it, 

L(ike love with sorrow to woo it, 

So my witty one so my pretty one sings ! 

And I see the white hawthorn-tree and the bright 

summer bird singing thro' it, 
And my heart is prouder than kings ! 

While I look on her I seem 
Once again in the sweet dream 



126 LYRICS. 

Of that enchanted day, 

When, underneath the hawthorn-tree, 

I loved my love, and my love loved me : 

And lost in love we lay, 

And saw the happy ships upon the yielding sea. 

While I look on her I seem 

Once again in that bright dream, 

Beautiful and wise : 

Wiser, fairer, more in tune, 

Than all else in that sweet June, 

And sinless as the skies 

That warmed the willins earth thro' all the languid 



Like my hawthorn-tree, 
She stands and seems to me 
The very face that smiles the summer smile : 
All lesser light-bearers 
Do light their lamps at hers — 
She lights her own at heaven's, and looks the while 
A sweeter purer sun. 
Whence beauty is begun. 

To blossom from that blossom thro' the blossoming 
isle. 

Thou shalt not leave me, child ! 

Come weather fierce or mild. 

My babe, my blossom ! thou shalt never leave me ! 

Life shall never wean us. 

Nor death shall e'er have room to come between 

us. 
And time may grieve me but shall ne'er bereave 

me. 
Nor see us more apart than he hath seen us. 

For I will fall with thee. 

As a bird from the tree 

Falls with a butterfly petal whitely shed, 



THE captain's WIFE. 127 

And falling — thou and I — 
I shall not dread to die, 
But like a child I '11 take my flower to bed. 
And when the long cold death-night hath gone by, 
In the great darkness of the sepplchre 
I '11 feel and find thee near, 
My babe, my white white blossom ! 
And when the trumpet cries, 
I shall not fear to rise, 

But wear thee o'er the spot upon my bosom. 
And come out of my grave and bear the awful 
eyes. 



THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 

I DO not say the day is long and weary, 
For while thou art content to be away, 
Living in thee, oh Love, I live thy day. 

And reck not if mine own be sad and dreary. 

I do not count its sorrows or its charms : 
It lies as cold, as empty, and as dead, 
As lay my wedding-dress beside my bed 

When I was clothed in thy dear arms. 

Yet there is something here within this breast 
Which, like a flower that never blossoms, lieth ; 
And tho' in words and tears my sorrow crieth, 

I know that it hath never been exprest. 

Something that blindly yearneth to be known, 
And doth not burn, nor rage, nor leap, nor dart ; 
But struggles in the sickness of my heart. 

As a root struggles in a vault of stone. 



Now, by my wedding-ring, 
I charge thee do not move 



128 LYRICS. 

That heavy stone that on the vault doth lie ; 
I charge thee be of merry cheer, my love, 
Nor ever let me know that thou dost sigh. 
For, ah ! how light a thing 
AVould shake me with the sorrow I deny ! 

I am as one who hid a giant's child 
In her deep prison, and, from year to year. 
He grew to his own stature, fierce and wild. 
And what she took for love she kept for fear. 

Oh, thou enchanter, who dost hold the spells 

Of all my sealed cells. 

Oh Love, thou hast been silent all too long, 

A little longer, Love, oh, silent be ; 

My secret hath waxed strong. 

My giant hath grown up to angry age ; 

Do thou but say the word that sets him free, 

And, lo ! he tears me in his rage ! 

I do not say the day is sad and dreary, 
For while thou art content to be away, 
Living in thee, oh Love, I live thy day. 
And reck not if mine own be wan and weary. 

I look down on it from my far love-dream, 
As some drowned saint may see with musing eyes 
Her lifeless body float adown the stream. 
While she is smiling in her skies. 

But do thou silence keep ! 

For I am one who walketh on the ledge 

Of some great rock's sheer edge : 

I walk in Ijeauty and in light. 

Self-balanced on the height : 

A breath ! — and I am breathless in the deep. 

Oh, my own Love, I warn 

Thy grief to be as still as they who tread 



THE captain's WIFE. 129 

The snow of alpine peak, 

And see the pendulous avalanche o'erhead 

Hang like a dew-drop on a thorn ! 

I charge thee silence keep ! 

My life stands breathless by her agony, 

Oh, do not bid her leap ! 

I am as calm as air 

Before a summer storm ; 

The ocean of my thoughts hath ceased to roll ; 

This living heart that doth not beat is warm ; 

1 think the stillness of my face is fair ; 

The cloud that fills my soul 

Is not a cloud of pain. 

Beware, beware ! one rash 

Sweet glance may be the flash 

That brings it raving down in thunder and in rain ! 

No, do not speak : 

Nor, oh ! let any tell of thy pale cheek, 

Nor paint the silent sorrow of thine eye, 

Nor tell me thou art fond, or gay, or glad ; 

For, ah ! so tuned and lightly strung am I, 

That howsoe'er thou stir, I ring thereby. 

Thy manly voice is deep, 

But if thou touch from sleep 

The woman's treble of my shrill reply. 

Ah, who shall say thine echoes may not weep ? 

A jester's ghost is sad, 

The shades of merriest flowers do mow and creep, 

And oh, the vocal shadows that should fly 

About the simplest word that thou canst say, 

What after spell shall ever lay ? 

Hast thou forgot when I sat down to sing 
To my forsaken harp, long, long ago, 
How thou, for sport, wouldst strike a single string, 
And hark the hovering chorus come and go, 
Low and high, high and low, 
9 



130 LYRICS. 

Till round the throbbing wire 

Rose such a quivering quire, 

As all King David's wives were echoing 

The tenor of their king. 

Like those dear strings, my silent soul is full 
Of cries, as a ripe fruit is full of wine. 
The fruit is hanging fair and beautiful, 
And dry-eyed as a rose in the sunshine, 
But try it with a single touch of thine, 
And, lo ! the drops that start, 
And all the golden vintage of its heart ! 

So, thinking of thy debt to Love and me, 

In some dull hour beyond the sea. 

Do thou but only say 

— As carelessly as men do pay their debts — 

" Oh, weary day ! " 

And that one sigh o'ersets 

The hive of my regrets, 

" Ah, weary, weary day, 

Oh, weary, weary day. 

Oh, day so weary, oh, day so dreary. 

Oh, weary, weary, weary, weary, weary, 

Oh, weary, weary ! '* 



GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

Small sheaf 

Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed 

Thy story, lo ! I see thee once more green 

And growing on the battle-field. 

On that last day that ever thou didst grow ! 

I look down thro' thy blades and see between 
A little lifted clover leaf 



GRASS FROM THP: BATTLE-FIELD. 131 

Stand like a cresset : and I know 

If this were morn there should be seen 

In its chalice such a gem 

As decks no mortal diadem 

Poised with a lapidary skill 

Which merely living doth fulfil 

And pass the exquisite strain of subtlest human 

will. 
But in the sun it lifteth up 
A dry unjewelled cup, 
Therefore I see that day doth not begin ; 
And yet I know its beaming lord 
Ilath not yet passed the hill of noon, 
Or thy lush blades 
Would be more dry and thin, 
And every blade a thirsty sword 
Edged with the sharp desire that soon 
Should draw the silver blood of all the shades. 
I feel 't is summer. This whereon I stand 
Is not a hill, nor, as I think, a vale ; 
The soil is soft upon the generous land, 
Yet not as where the meeting streams take hand 
Under the mossy mantle of the dale. 
Such grass is for the meadow. If I try 
To lift my heavy eyelids, as in dreams 
A power is on them, and I know not why. 
Thou art but part ; the whole is unconfest : 
Beholding thee I long to know the rest. 
As one expands the bosom with a sigh, 
I stretch my sight's horizon ; but it seems, 
Ere it can widen round the mystery, 
To close in swift contraction, like the breast. 
The air is held, as by a charm, 
In an enforced silence, as like sound 
As the dead man the living. 'T is so still, 
I hsten for it loud. 

And when I force my eyes from thy sole place 
And see a wider space, 
Above, around, 



132 LYRICS. 

In ragged glory like a torn 

And golden-natured cloud, 

O'er the dim field a living smoke is warm ; 

As in a city on a Sabbath morn 

'I he hot and summer sunshine goes abroad 

Swathed in the murky air, 

As if a god 

Enrobed himself in common flesh and blood, 

Our heavy flesh and blood, 

And here and there 

As unaware 

Thro' the dull lagging limbs of mortal make, 

That keep unequal time, the swifter essence brake. 

But hark a bugle horn ! 

And, ere it ceases, such a shock 

As if the plain were iron, and thereon 

An iron hammer, heavy as a hill, 

Swung by a monstrous force, in stroke came down 

And deafened Heaven. I feel a swound 

Of every sense bestunned. 

The rent ground seems to rock, 

And all the definite vision, in such wise 

As a dead giant borne on a swift river. 

Seems sliding off for ever. 

When my reviving eyes, 

As one that holds a spirit by his eye 

With set inexorable stare. 

Fix thee : and so I catch, as by the hair. 

The form of that ijreat dream that else had drifted 

by. 

I know not what that form may be ; 

The lock I hold is all I see, 

And thou, small sheaf! art all the battle-field to 



The wounded silence hath not time to heal 

When see ! upon thy sod 

The round stroke of a charger's heel 



GEASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 133 

With echoing thunder shod ! 

As the night-lightning shows 

A mole upon a momentary face, 

So, as that gnarled hoof strikes the indented place, 

I see it, and it goes ! 

And I hear the squadrons trot thro' the heavy shell 

and shot, 
And wheugh ! but the grass is gory ! 
Forward ho ! blow to blow, at the foe in they go, 
And 't is hieover heigho for glory ! 

The rushing storm is past, 
But hark ! upon its track the far drums beat, 
And all the earth that at thy roots thou hast 
Stirs, shakes, shocks, sounds, with quick strong 

tramp of feet 
In time unlike the last. 
Footing to tap of drum 
The charging columns come ; 
And as they come their mighty martial sound 
Blows on before them as a flaming fire 
Blows in the wind ; for, as old Mars in ire 
Strode o'er the world encompassed in a cloud. 
So the swift legion, o'er the quaking ground. 
Strode in a noise of battle. Nigh and nigher 
I hqard it, like the long swell gathering loud 
What-time a land-wind blowing from the main 
Blows to the burst of fury and is o'er. 
As if an ocean on one fatal shore 
Fell in a moment whole, and threw its roar 
Whole to the further sea : and as the strain 
Of my strong sense cracked in the deafened ear, 
And all the rushing tumult of the plain 
Topped its great arch above me, a swift foot 
Was struck between thy blades to the struck root. 
And lifted : as into a sheath 
A sudden sword is thrust and drawn again 
Ere one can gasp a breath. 



134 LYRICS. 

I was so near, 

I saw the wrinkles of the leather grain, 

The very cobbler's stitches, and the wear 

By which I knew the wearer trod not straight ; 

An honest shoe it seemed that had been good 

To mete the miles of any country lane, 

Nor did one sign explain 

'T was made to wade thro' blood. 

My shoe, soft fbotstooled on this hearth, so far 

From strife, hath such a patch, and as he past 

His broken shoelace whipt his eager haste. 

An honest shoe, good faith ! that might have stood 

Upon the threshold of a village inn 

And welcomed all the world : or by the byre 

And barn gone peaceful till the day closed in, 

And, scraped at eve upon some homely gate, 

Ah, Heaven ! might sit beside a cottage fire 

And touch the lazy log to softer flames than war. 

Long, long, thou wert alone, 

I thought thy days were done, 

Flat as ignoble grass that lies out mown 

By peaceful hands in June, I saw thee lie. 

A worm crawled o'er thee, and the gossamer 

That telegraphs Queen Mab to Oberon, 

Lengthening his living message, passed thee by. 

But "rain fell : and thy strawed blades one by one 

Began to stir and stir. 

And as some moorland bird 

Whom the still hunter's stalking steps have stirred, 

When he stands mute, and nothing more is heard, 

With slow succession and reluctant art 

Grows upward from her bed. 

Each move a muffled start. 

And thro' the silent autumn covert red 

Uplifts a throbbing head 

That times the ambushed hunter's thudding heart ; 



GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 135 

Or as a snow-drop bending low 

Beneath a flake of other snow 

Thaws to its height when spring winds melt the 

skies, 
And drip by drip doth mete a measured rise ; 

Or as the eyelids of a child's fair eyes 
Lift from her lower lashes slow and pale 
To arch the wonder of a fairy tale ; 
So thro' the western light 
I saw thee slowly rearing to thy height. 

Then when thou hadst regained thy state, 

And while a meadow-spider with three lines 

Enschemed thy three tall pillars green, 

And made the enchanted air between 

Mortal with shining signs, 

(For the loud carrion-flies were many and late), 

Betwixt thy blades and stems 

There fell a hand, 

Soft, small and white, and ringed with gold and 

gems ; 
And on those stones of price 
I saw a proud device. 
And words I could not understand. 

Idly, one by one, 

The knots of anguish came undone 

The fingers stretched as from a cramp of woe, 

And sweet and slow 

Moved to gracious shapes of rest, 

Like a curl of soft pale hair 

Drying in the sun. 

And then they spread, 

And sought a wonted greeting in the air, 

And strayed 

Between thy blades, and with each blade 

As with meeting fingers played 



136 LYRICS. 

And tresses long and fair. 

Then again at placid length it lay, 

Stretched as to kisses of accustomed lips ; 

And again in sudden strain 

Spr ing, falling clenched with pain, 

Till the knuckles white, 

Thro' the evening gray, 

Whitened and whitened as the snowy tips 

Of far hills glimmer thro' the night. 

But who shall tell that agony 

That beat thee, beat thee into bloody clay 

Red as the sards and rubies of the rings ; 

As when a bird, fast by the fowler's net, 

A moment doth forget 

His fetters, and with desperate wings 

A-sudden springs and falls. 

And (while from happy clouds the skylark calls) 

Still feebler springs 

And fainter falls, 

And still untamed upon the gory ground 

With failing strength renews his deadly wound ? 

At length the struggle ceased ; and my fixed eye 

Perceived that every finger wan 

Did quiver like the quivering fan 

Of a dying butterfly, 

Nor long I watched until 

Even the humming in the air was stilL 

Then I gazed and gazed. 

Nor once my aching eyeballs raised 

Till a poor bird tha^ had a meadow nest 

Came down, and like a shadow ran 

Among the shadowy grass. 

I followed with mine eyes ; and with a strain 

Pursued her, till six cubits' length beyond 

Thy central sheaf, I found 

A sight I could not pass. 

The hacked and haggard head 

Of a huge war-horse dead. 

The evening haze hung o'er him like a breath. 



GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 137 

And still in death 

He stretched drawn lips of rage that grinned in 

vain ; 
A sparrow chirped upon 
His wound, and in his dying slaver fed, 
Or picked those teeth of stone 
That bit with lifeless jaws the purple tongue of pain. 

But I remembered that dead hand 

I left to trace the childless lark, 

And back o'er those six cubits of grass-land, 

Blade by blade, and stalk by stalk, 

As one doth walk 

Who, mindful, counts by dark 

Along the garden palings to the gate, 

I felt along the vision to where late 

There lay that dead hand white ; 

But now methought that there was something more 

Than when I looked before. 

And what was more was sweeter than the rest ; 

As when upon the moony half of night 

Aurora lays a living light. 

Softer than moonshine, yet more bright. 

And as I looked I was aware 

Another hand was on the hand, 

A smaller hand, more fair 

But not more white, as is the warm delight 

That curves and curls and coyly glows 

About the blushing heart of the white rose 

More fair but not more white 

Than those broad beauties that expand 

And fall, and falling blanch the morning air. 

Both hands lay motionless. 

The living on the dead. But by and by 

The living hand began to move and press 

The cold dead flesh, and took its silent way 

So often o'er the unrespective clay, 

In such lonir-drawn caress 



138 LYRICS. 

Of pleading passion, such an ecstacy 

Of supplicating touch, that as they lay 

So like, so unlike, twined with the fond art 

And all the dear delay 

And dreadful patience of a desperate heart, 

Methought that to the tenement 

From which it lately went, 

The naked life had come back, and did try 

By every gate to enter. While I thought, 

With sudden clutch of new intent 

The living grasp had caught 

The dead compliance. Slowly thro' 

The dusky air she raised it, and aloft, 

While all her fingers soft 

And every starting vein 

Tightened as in a rack of pain, 

Held it one straining moment fixed and mute, 

And let it go. 

And with a thud upon the sod. 

It fell like falling fruit. 

Then there came a cry, 

Tearless, bloodless, dry 

Of every sap of sorrow but its own — 

It had no likeness among living cries ; 

And to my heart my streaming blood was blown 

As if before my eyes 

A dead man sprang up dead, and dead fell down. 

The carrion-hunting winds that prowl the wold, 

Frenzied for prey, sweep in and bear it on, 

Far, far and further thro' the shrieking cold. 

And still the yelling pack devour it as they run. 

And silence, like a want of air, 

Was round me, and my sense burned low. 

And darkness darkened ; and the glow 

Of the living hand being gone. 

The dead hand showed like a pale stone 

Full fathom five 

Under a quiet bay. 



GRASS FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. 139 

But still my sight did dive 

To reach it wliere it lay, 

And still the night grew dark, and by degrees 

The dead thing glimmered with a drowned light, 

As faces seem and sink in depths of darkening seas. 

Then, while yet 

My set eyes saw it, as the sage doth set 

His glass to some dim glimpse afar 

That palpitates from mote to star. 

It was touched and hid ; 

Touched and hid, as when a deep sea-weed 

Hides some white sea-sorrow. All 

My sight uprose, and all my soul 

(As one who presses at the pane 

When a city show goes by). 

Crowded into the fixed eye. 

And filled the starting ball. 

Nor filled in vain. 

I began to feel 

The air had something to reveal. 

Beyond the blank indifference 

Was underlined another sense. 

Was rained a gracious influence ; 

And tho' the darkness was so deep, 

I knew it was not wholly dead, 

Nor empty, as we feel in sleep 

That some one standeth by the bed. 

I beheld, as who should look 

In trance upon a sealed book. 

I perceived that in a place 

The night was lighter, as the face 

Of an Indian Queen when love 

Draws back the dark blood from lier sick 

Pale cheek 

Behind the sable curtain that doth not move. 

No outer light was shed. 

But as the mystery 

Before my stronger will did slowly yield. 



140 LYRICS. 

I saw, as in that dark hour before morn 

When the shocks of harvest corn 

Exhale about the midnight field 

The wealth of yellow suns, and breathe a gentle day. 

I saw the shape of a fair bended head, 

And hair pale streaming long and low 

Veiling the face I might not know, 

And dabbling all the ground with sweet uncertain 

woe. 
Much I questioned in my mind 
Of her form and kind, 
But my stern compelling eye 
Brought no other answer from the air. 
Nor did my rude hand dare 
Profane that agony. 

I watched apart 

With such a sweet awe in my heart 

As looks up dumb into the sky 

When that goddess, lorn and lone, 

AVho slew grim winter like a polar bear, 

And threw his immemorial white 

Upon her granite throne, 

Sits all unseen as Death, 

Save for the loss of many a hidden star 

And for the wintry mystery of her breath. 

And at a far-sight that she sees, 

Bowed by her great despair, 

Bendeth her awful head upon her knees, 

And all her wondrous hair 

Dishevels golden down the northern night. 

At length my weary gaze 

Relents : and, haze in haze 

Pervolving as in glad release, 

I saw each separate shade 

Slide from his place and fade, 

And all the flowering dark did winter back 

Into its undistinguished black. 



AFLOAT AND ASHORB:. 141 

So the sculptor doth in fancy make 

His formed image in the formless stone, 

And while his spells compel, 

Can see it there full well, 

The ivory kernel in the ivory shell, 

But shakes himself and all the god is gone. 

Alas! 

And have I seen thee but an hour ? 

a\nd shalt thou never tell 

Thy story, oh thou broken flower, 

Thou midnight asphodel 

Among the battle grass ? 

Too soon ! Too soon ! 

But while I bid thee stay, 

Night- like a cloud, dissolves into the day, 

And from the city clock I hear the stroke of noon. 



AFLOAT AND ASHORE. 

Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort. 
Like a whale to starboard, a whale to port ; 
Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, 
And the steamer steams thro' the sea, love ! 

I see the ship on the sea, love, 

I stand alone 

On this rock, 

The sea does not shock 

The stone ; 

The waters around it are swirled, 

But under my feet 

I feel it go down 

To where the hemispheres meet 



142 LYRICS. 

At the adamant heart of the world. 
Oh, that the rock would move ! 
Oh, that the rock would roll 
To meet thee over the sea, love ! 
Surely my mighty love 
Should fill It like a soul. 
And it should bear me to thee, love ; 
Like a ship on the sea, love. 
Bear me, bear me, to thee, love ! 

Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds 

are wondering, 
Low on our lee, love. 
Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother 

and lover, but over and over 
The whirl-wheels trundle the sea, love. 
And on thro' the loud pealing pomp of her cloud 
The great ship is going to thee, love ; 
Blind to her mark, like a world thro' the dark. 
Thundering, sundering, to the ( 
Thundering ever to thee, love. 

I have come down to thee coming to me, love. 

I stand, I stand 

On the sohd sand, 

I see thee coming to me, love ; 

The sea runs up to me on the sand, 

I start — 't is as if thou hadst stretched thine hand 

And touched me thro' the sea, love. 

1 feel as if I must die 

For there 's something longs to fly, 

Fly and fly, to thee, love. 

As the blood of the flower ere she blows 

Is beating up to the sun, 

And her roots do hold her down. 

And it blushes and breaks undone 

In a rose, 

So my blood is beating in me, love ! 



THE ghost's return. 143 

I see thee nigh and nigher, 

And my soul leaps up like sudden fire, 

My life 's in the air 

To meet thee there, 

To meet thee coming to me, love ! 

Over the sea. 

Coming to me, 

Coming, and coming to me, love ! 

The boats are lowered : I leap in first, 
Pull, boys, pull ! or my heart will burst ! 
More ! more ! — lend me an oar ! — 
I 'm thro' the breakers ! I 'm on the shore ! 
I see thee waiting for me, love ! 

A sudden storm 

Of sighs and tears, 

A clenching arm, 

A look of years. 

In my bosom a thousand cries, 

A flash like light before my eyes, 

And I am lost in thee, love ! 



THE GHOST'S RETURN. 

Skirlin' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', 
Reelin' an' skreelin', they piped doun the glen, 
Lang Hugh an' black Sandie, Ian Dhu an' wee 

Dandie, 
Wha wad na gang wi' the braw Hielan'men ? 

Skirlin' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', 
Reehn' an' skreelin', they piped doun the glen, 
Wi' a rout an' a shout, an' a' the lasses out, 
Wha wad na gang wi' the braw Hielan'men ? 



144 LYRICS. 

Skirlin' an' birlin', tunin' an' croonin', 
Reelin' an' skreelin', they piped doun the glen ! 
VVi' the hot light o' noon an' the blue sky aboon, 
Ilka man sword in han' gaed the braw Hielan'men ! 

Ken ye why we weep ? Think ye that they sleep, 
Ilka man on his ain bluidy brae, 
Ilk ane whar he died wi' a faeman by his side, 
An' the pibroch can wauk him na mae ? 

Or the news cam fra' the fiel' we ken'd it a' too 

wcel, 
Our bonnie bonnie braw Hielan'men ! 
Not a foot ony stirred to meet the bluidy word. 
As the death-roll cam' slow up the glen. 

Had ye seen any sight of terror and affright ? 
Did their ghosts walk in white up the glen ? 

We saw na ony sight o' terror an' affright, 
An' white's no for braw tartaned men ! 

Fra the hour they gaed that day, oh the glen was 

fu' o' wae. 
Our bonnie bonnie braw Hielan'men ! 
Sair, sair, an' mair an' mair, our hearts were fu' o' 

care, 
And our een speerit aye doun the glen ; 

Till ae morn it did befa' that we waukit up a', 
An' the light it was sweet, but an' ben. 
An' a' that lang day we had na ony wae, 
An' no ee cared to speer doun the glen. 

Not a lassie but apart hid her wonder in her heart. 
An' lay close till the day began to dee, 
Lest her canty een confest the secret o' her breast. 
For she said, " They will a' weep but me." 



DAFT JEAN. 145 

But when we met at e'en by the thorn upon the 

green, 
An' the tale we a' tellt was the same, 
Not a word mair we said, but ilkane hid her head, 
An' kenned that her man was at hame. 



DAFT JEAN. 

Daft Jean, 

The waesome wean, 

She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha', 

The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw, 

The cottar's cot by the birken shaw ; 

An' aye she gret. 

To ilk ane she met, 

For the trumpet had blawn an' her lad was awa.' 

" Black, black," sang she, 
" Black, black my weeds shall be, 
My love has widowed me ! 
Black, black ! " sang she. 

Daft Jean, 
The waesome wean, 

She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha', 
The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw, 
The cottar's cot by the birken shaw ; 
Nae mair she creepit, 
Nae mair she weepit, 

She stept *mang the lasses the queen o' them a', 
The queen o' them a', 
The queen o' them a'. 

She stept 'mang the lasses the queen o' them a'. 
For the fight it was fought i' the fiel' far awa*, 
An' claymore in han' for his love an' his Ian', 
The lad she lo'ed best he was foremost to»fa'. 
10 



146 



" White, white," sang she, 

" White, white, my weeds shall be, 

I am no widow," sang she, 

" White, white, my wedding shall be, 

White, white ! " sang she. 

Daft Jean, 

The waesome wean, 

She gaed na' to cottage, she gaed na to ha', 

But forth she creepit. 

While a' the house weepit. 

Into the snaw i' the eerie night-fa'. 

At morn we found her, 

The lammies stood round her. 

The snaw was her pillow, her sheet was the snaw ; 

Pale she was lying, 

Singing and dying, 

A' for the laddie wha fell far awa'. 

" White, white," sang she, 
'•• My love has married me. 
White, white, my weeds shall be, 
White, white, my wedding shall be, 
White, white," sang she ! 



THE RECRUITS' BALL. 

Fiddler loquitur. 

Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, 
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king ! 
Heigh, pretty Kitty ! heigh, jolly Polly ! 
Up with the heels, girls ! fling, lasses, fling ! 
Heigh there ! stay there ! that 's not the way, there ! 
Oh Johnny, Johnny, 



THE recruits' BALL. 147 

Oh Johnny, Johnny, 

Ho, ho, everybody all round the ring ! 

Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, 

Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king ! 

Heigh, pretty Kitty ! heigh, jolly Polly ! 

Up with the heels, girls ! swing, girls, swing ! 

Foot, boys ! foot, boys ! to 't, boys ! do 't, boys ! 

Ho, Bill ! ho, Jill ! ho. Will ! ho, Phil ! 

Ho, Johnny, Johnny, 

Ho, Johnny, Johnny, 

Ho, ho, everybody all round the ring ! 

Deuce take the fiddle. 

Deuce take the fiddle. 

Deuce take the jolly fiddle, deuce take the fiddler ! 

Here goes the fiddle, 

Here goes the fiddle. 

Here goes the jolly fiddle, here goes the fiddler ! 

Ned, boy ! your head, boy ! 
She '11 strike you dead, boy ! 
There she goes at your nose ! 
Deuce strike you dead, boy ! 

Call, boys ! bawl, boys ! 
Deuce take us all, boys ! 
Here we go, yes or no, 
Deuce take us all, boys ! 

Deuce take the wall, boys, 
Deuce take the floor, boys, 
Deuce take the jolly floor, 
Deuce take us all, boys ! 

There goes the wall, boys ! 
There goes the door, boys ! 
Round they swing in a ring ! 
There goes the floor, boys 1 



148 LYRICS. 

Lad, wench, roof, floor, 
Wench, lad, wall, door ! 
(yurse the ground, spin it round ! 
Deuce take us all, boys ! 



FOR CHARITY'S SAKE. 

Oh dark-eyed maid," 

The soldier said, 

I 've been wounded in many a fray 

But such a dart 

As you shoot to my heart, 

I never felt till to-day. 

Then give to me 

Kisses, one, two, three, 

All for dear Charity's sake. 

And pity my pain, 

And meet me again, 

Or else my heart must break." 

Peggy was kind, 

She would save the blind 

Black fly that shimmered the ale, 

And her quick hand stopped 

If a grass-moth dropped 

In the drifted snows of the pail. 

One, two, three. 

Kisses gave she. 

All for dear Charity's sake ; 

And she pitied his pain, 

And she met him again, 

For fear his heart should break. 



wiis^D. 149 

The bugle blew, 

The merry flag flew, 

The squadron clattered the town ; 

The twigs were bright on the minster elm, 

He wore a primrose in his helm 

As they clattered thro' the town. 

Heyday, holiday, on we go ! 

Heyday, holiday, blow boys, blow ! 

Clattering thro' the town. 

And when the minster leaves were sear, 
On a far red field by a dark sea drear, 
In dust and thunder, and cheer, boys, cheer, 
The bold dragoon went down. 

Shiver, poor Peggy, the wind blows high ; 
Beg a penny as I go by, 
All for sweet ('harity's sake : 
Hold the thin hand from the shawl, 
Turn the wan face to the wall. 
Turn the face, let the hot tears fall, 
For fear your heart should break. 



WIND. 

Oh the wold, the wold. 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the winter stark. 

Oh the level dark. 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the wold, the wold. 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the mystery 

Of the blasted tree 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 



150 LYRICS. 

Oh tlie wold, the wold, 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the owlet's croon 

To the haggard moon. 

To the waning moon, 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the wold, the wold, 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the fleshless stare. 

Oh the windy hair, 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the wold, tlie wold. 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the cold sigh. 

Oh the hollow cry, 

The lean and hollow cry. 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the wold, the wold. 

Oh the wold, the wold ! 

Oh the white sight. 

Oh the shuddering night, 

The shivering shuddering night. 

On the wold, the wold, the wold ! 



THE BOTANIST'S VISION. 

The sun that in Breadalbane's lake doth iall 
Was melting to the sea down golden Tay, 
When a cry came along the peopled way, 
" Sebastopol is ours ! " From that wild call 
I turned, and leaning on a time-worn wall 
Quaint with the touch of many an ancient day, 
The mapped mould and mildewed marquetry 



THE orphan's song. 151 

Knew with my focussed soul ; which bent down all 

Its sense, power, passion, to the sole regard 

Of each green minim, as it were but born 

To that one use. I strode home stern and hard ; 

In my hot hands I laid my throbbing head, 

And all the living world and all the dead 

Began a march which did not end at morn. 



THE ORPHAN'S SONG. 

I HAD a little bird, 
I took it from the nest ; 
I prest it, and blest it, 
And nurst it in my breast. 

I set it on the ground, 

I danced round and round, 

And sang about it so cheerly, 

With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, 

And oh but I love thee dearly ! " 

I make a little feast 
Of food soft and sweet, 
I hold it in my breast, 
And coax it to eat ; 

I pit, and I pat, 

I call it this and that, 

And sing about it so cheerly, 

With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, 

And ho but I love thee dearly ! " 

I may kiss, I may sing, 
But I can't make it feed, 
It taketh no heed 
Of any pleasant thing. 



152 LYRICS. 

I scolded, and I socked, 
But It minded not a whit, 
Its little mouth was locked, 
And I could not open it. 

Tho' with pit, and with pat, 

And with this, and with that, 

I sang about it so cheerly. 

And " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, 

And ho but I love thee dearly ! " 

But when the day was done, 
And the room was at rest. 
And I sat all alone 
With my birdie in my breast. 

And the light had fled. 
And not a sound was heard, 
Then my little bird 
Lifted up its head, 

And the little mouth 

Loosed its sullen pride. 

And it opened, it opened. 

With a yearning strong and wi<le. 

Swifter than I speak 
I brought it food once more, 
But the poor little beak 
Was locked as before. 

I sat down again. 
And not a creature stirred, 
I laid the little bird 
Again where it had lain ; 

And again when nothing stirred. 
And not a word I said, 
Then my little bird 



THE orphan's song, 153 

Lifted up its head, 

And the little beak 

Loosed its stubborn pride, 

And it opened, it opened, 

With a yearning strong and wide. 

It lay in my breast, 

It uttered no cry, 

'T was famished, 't was famished. 

And I could n't tell why. 

I could n't tell why, 

But 1 saw that it would die, 

For all that I kept dancing round and round, 

And singing above it so cheerly, 

With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, 

And ho but I love thee dearly ! " 

I never look sad, 
I hear what people say, 
I laugh when they are gay 
And they think I am glad. 

My tears never start, 
I never say a word. 
But I think that my heart 
Is like that little bird. 

Every day I read. 
And I sing, and I play. 
But thro' the long day 
It taketh no heed. 

It taketh no heed 
Of any pleasant thing, 
I know it doth not read, 
I know it doth not sing. 

With my mouth I read, 
With my hands I play, 



154 



My shut heart is shut, 
Coax it how you may. 

You may coax it how you may 
While the day is broad and bright, 
But in the dead night 
When the guests are gone away. 

And no more the music sweet 
Up the house doth pass, 
Nor the dancing feet 
Shake the nursery glass ; 

And I 've heard my aunt 
Along the corridor, 
And my uncle gaunt 
Lock his chamber door; 

And upon the stair 
All is hushed and still, 
And the last wheel 
Is silent in the square ; 

And the nurses snore. 
And the dim sheets rise and fall, 
And the lamplight 's on the wall, 
And the mouse is on the floor ; 

And the curtains of my bed 
Are like a heavy cloud. 
And the clock ticks loud. 
And sounds are in my head ; 

And little Lizzie sleeps 

Softly at my side, 

It opens, it opens. 

With a yearning strong and wide ! 

It yearns in my breast, 
It utters no cry, 



" SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING," ETC. 155 

'T is famished, 't is famished, 

And I feel that I shall die, 

I feel that I shall die. 

And none will know why. 

The' the pleasant life is dancing round and round 

And singing- about me so cheerly, 

With " Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird, 

And ho but I love thee dearly ! " 



" SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING OF SOFT 
RECALL." 

Return, return ! all night my lamp is burning, 
All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn ; 

Like it, 1 fade and pale, when day returning 
Bears witness that the absent can return, 
Return, return. 

Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness, 
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn, 

Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness 
To feed the sorrowy signal for return, 
Return, return. 

Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings, 

1 bend and shake ; like it, I quake and yearn, 
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering 
wings, 

Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn — 

Burn in the watchfire of return, 

Return, return. 

Like it, the very flame whereby I pine 
Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn 
My soul becomes a better soul than mine. 
And from its brightening beacon I discern 



156 LYRICS. 

My starry love go forth from me, and shine 
Aciross the seas a path for thy return, 
Keturn, return. 

Return, return ! all night I see it burn, 

All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin 

Of palmed praying hands that meet and yearn — 

Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return. 

Day, like a golden fetter, locks them in. 

And wans the light that withers, tho' it burn 

As warmly still for thy return ; 

Still thro' the splendid load uplifts the thin 

Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn 

Nought but that votive sign for thy return — 

That smgle suppliant sign for thy return, 

Return, return. 

Return, return ! lest haply, love, or e'er 

Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn, 

And thou, who thro' the window didst discern 

The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair 

To find no wide eyes watching there. 

No withered welcome waiting thy return ! 

A passing ghost, a smoke-wreath in the air, 

The flameless ashes, and the soulless urn. 

Warm with the famished fire that lived to burn — 

Burn out its lingering life for thy return, 

Its last of lingering life for thy return, 

Its last of lingering life to light thy late return, 

Return, return. 



SONNETS ON THE WAR,^ 



OTHER POEMS. 



L' AVENIR. 

1 SAW the human millions as the sand 

Unruffled on the starlit wilderness. 

The day was near, and every star grew less 

In universal dawn. Then woke a band 

Of wheeling winds, and made a mighty stress 

Of morning weather ; and still wilder went 

O'er shifting plains, till, in their last excess, 

A whirlwind whirled across the whirling land. 

Heaven blackened over it ; a voice of woes 

Foreran it ; the great noise of clanging foes 

Hurtled behind ; beneath the earth was rent, 

And howling Death, like an uncaverned beast. 

Leaped from his lair. Meanwhile morn oped the 

East, 
And thro' the dusty tumult God arose. 

* The Sonnets were first published in 1856. 



158 SONNETS ON THE WAR. 



THE ARMY SURGEON. 

Over that breathing waste of friends and foes, 
The wounded and the dying, hour by hour, — 
In will a thousand, yet but one in power, — 
He labours thro' the red and groaning day. 
The fearful moorland where the myriads lay 
Moved as a moving field of mangled worms. 
And as a raw brood, orphaned in the storms, 
Thrust up their heads if the wind bend a spray 
Above them, but when the bare branch performs 
No sweet parental office, sink away 
AVith hopeless chirp of woe, so as he goes 
Around his feet in clamorous agony 
They rise and fall ; and all the seething plain 
Bubbles a cauldron vast of many-coloured pain. 



THE WOUNDED. 

'' Thou canst not wish to live," the surgeon said. 
He clutched him, as a soul thrust forth from bliss 
Clings to the ledge of Heaven ! " Would'st thou 

keep this 
Poor branchless trunk ? " " But she would lean my 

head 
Upon her breast ; oh, let me live ! " " Be wise." 
" I could be very happy ; both these eyes 
Are left me ; I should see her ; she would kiss 
My forehead ; only let me live." — He dies 
Even in the passionate prayer. " Good Doctor, say 
If thou canst give more than another day 
Of life V " " I think there may be hope." " Pass on. 
I will not buy it with some widow's son ! " 



SONNETS ON THE WAR. 159 

" Help," " help," '' help," " help ! " " God curse 

thee ! " " Doctor, stay, 
Yon Frenchman went down earlier in the day." 



THE WOUNDED. 

" See to my brother, Doctor ; I have lain 
All day against his heart ; it is warm there ; 
This stiffness is a trance ; he lives ! I swear, — 
I swear he lives ! " '• Good Doctor, tell my ain 
Auld Mother ; " — but his pale lips moved in vain. 
" Doctor, when you were little Master John, 
I left the old place ; you will see it again. 
Tell my poor Father, — turn down the wood-lane 
Beyond the home-field — cross the stepping-stone 
To the white cottage, with the garden-gate — 
O God ! " — he died. " Doctor, when I am gone 
Send this to England." "Doctor, look upon 
A countryman ! " " Devant mon Chef ? Ma foi ! " 
" Oui, il est blesse beaucoup plus que moi." 



VOX POPULI. 

What if the Turk be foul or fair '? Is 't known 
Thai the sublime Samaritan of old 
Withheld his hand till the bruised wretch had told 
His creed ? Your neighbour's roof is but a shed, 
Yet if he burns shall not the flame enfold 
Your palace ? Saving his, you save your own. 
Oh ye who fall that Liberty may stand, 
The light of coming ages shines before 
Upon your graves ! Oh ye immortal band. 
Whether ye wrestled with this Satan o'er 



] 60 SONNETS ON THE WAR. 

A dead dog, or the very living head 

Of Freedom, every precious drop ye bled 

Is holy. 'T is not for his broken door 

That the stern goodman shoots the burglar dead. 



CZAR. NICHOLAS. 

We could not turn from that colossal foe, 
The morning shadow of whose hideous head 
Darkened the furthest West, and who did throw 
His evening shade on Ind. The polar bow 
Behind him flamed and paled, and through the red 
Uncertain dark his vasty shape did grow 
Upon the sleepless nations. Lay him low ! 
Aye, low as for our priceless English dead 
We lie and groan to-day in England ! Oh, 
My God ! I think Thou hast not finished 
This Thy fair world, where, triumph 111 or Good, 
We still must weep ; where or to lose or gain 
Is woe ; where Pain is medicined by Pain, 
And Blood can only be washed out by Blood. 



CAVALRY CHARGE AT BALACLAVA. 

Traveller on foreign ground, whoe'er thou art, 
Tell the great tidings ! They went down that day 
A Legion, and came back from victory 
Two hundred men and Glory ! On the mart 
Is this " to lose ? " Yet, Stranger, thou shalt say 
These were our common Britons. 'T is our way 
In England. Aye, ye heavens ! I saw them part 
The Death-Sea as an English dog leaps o'er 
The rocks into the ocean. He goes in 



SONNETS ON THE WAR. 161 

Thick as a lion, and he comes out thin 
As a starved wolf"; but lo ! he brings to shore 
A life above his own, which when his heart 
Bursts with that final etifbrt, from the stones 
Springs up and builds a temple o'er his bones. 



HOME, IN WAR-TIME. 

She turned the fair page with her fairer hand — 

More fair and frail than it was wont to be — 

O'er each remembered thing he loved to see 

She lingered, and as with a fairy's wand 

Enchanted it to order. Oft she fanned 

New motes into the sun ; and as a bee 

Sings thro' a brake of bells, so murmured she, 

And so her patient love did understand 

The reliquary room. Upon the sill 

She fed his favourite bird. " Ah, Robin, sing ! 

He loves thee." Then she touches a sweet string 

Of soft recall, and towards the Eastern hill 

Smiles all her soul — for him who cannot hear 

The raven croaking at his carrion ear. 



WARNING. 

Virtue is Virtue, writ in ink or blood. 
And Duty, Honour, Valour, are the same 
Whether they cheer the thundering steps of Fame 
Up echoing hills of Alma, or, more blest, 
Walk with her in that band where she is least 
Thro' smiling plains and cities doing good. 
Yet, oh to sing them in their happier day ! 
Yon glebe is not the hind whose manhood mends 
11 



162 SONNETS ON THE WAR. 

Its rudeness, yet it gains but while he spends, 
And mulcts him rude. Even that sinless Lord 
Whose feet Avan Mary washed, went not Plis way 
Un coloured by the Galilean field ; 
And Honour, Duty, Valour, seldom wield 
With stainless hand the immedicable sword. 



AMERICA. 

Men say, Columbia, we shall hear thy guns. 
But in what tongue shall be thy battle-cry ? 
Not that our sires did love in years gone by, 
When all the Pilgrim fathers were little sons 
In merrie homes of Englaunde ? Back, and see 
Thy satchelled ancestor ! Behold, he runs 
To mine, and, clasped, they tread the equal lea 
To the same village-school, where side by side 
They spell " our Father." Hard by, the twin-pride 
Of that grey hall whose ancient oriel gleams 
Thro' yon baronial pines, with looks of light 
Our sister-mothers sit beneath one tree. 
Meanwhile our Shakspeare wanders past and dreams 
His Helena and Hermia. Shall we fio;ht ? 



AMERICA. 

iSToR force nor fraud shall sunder us ! Oh ye 
Who north or south, on east or western land, 
Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth. 
Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God 
For God ; Oh ye who in eternal youth 
Speak with a living and creative flood 
This universal Enijlish, and do stand 



SOiSNETS ON THE WAR. 163 

Its breathiiio; book ; live worthy of that grand 
Heroic utterance — parted, yet a whole, 
Far yet unsevered, — children brave and free 
Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be 
Lords of an empire wide as Shakspeare's soul, 
Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme. 
And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spencer's 
dream. 



A STATESMAN. 

Captain be he, my England, who doth know 
Not careful coasts, with inland welcomes warm ; 
But who, with heart infallible, can go 
Straight to the gulf-streams of the World, where 

blow 
The inevitable Winds. Let cockles swarm 
The sounded shores. He helms Thee, England ! 

who. 
Faced by the very Spirit of the Storm, 
Full at the phantom drives his dauntless prow ! 
And tho' the Vision rend in racks of blood, 
And drip in thunder from his reeling spars. 
The compass in his hand, beholds the flood 
Beneath, o'er-head the everlasting stars 
Dim thro' the gory ghost ; and calm in these, 
Thro' that tremendous dream sails on to happier 



POLAND. ITALY. HUNGARY. 

In the great Darkness of the Passion, graves 
Were oped, and many Saints which slept arose. 



164 SONNETS ON THE WAR. 

So in this latter Darkness, which doth close 

Upon our noon. That Peace Divine which saves 

And blesses, and from the celestial waves 

Of whose now-parted garment our worst woes 

Did touch a healing virtue, by our foes 

Is crucified. The inextricable slaves 

Have slain what should have set them free. Behold, 

The vail is rent ; Earth yawns ; the rocks are hurled 

In twain ; and Kingdoms long since low and cold, 

Each with his dead forgotten brow enfurled 

In that proud flag he fell upon of old. 

Come forth into the Cltv of the World. 



JERUSALEM. 

If God so raise the Dead, shall He pass by 

The Captive and the immemorable chain ? 

Judcea capta ! — taken but not slain — 

And cursed not to die — ah, not to die ? 

Then come out of thine ages, thou art free ! 

Live but one Greek in old Thermopylae, 

And Greece is saved ! Dark stands the Northern 

Fate 
At Europe's open door ; upon her nod 
To pass that breach a hundred nations wait. 
What ! shall we meet her with the bayonet ? 
As the West sets the Sun 'twixt sea and sky 
In that Great Gate, Immortal ! let us set 
Thy doom ; quit Destiny with Destiny, 
Meet Fate by Fate, and fill the gap with God, 



AUSTRL^N ALLIANCE. 

Doth this hand live ? Trust not a royal coat. 
My country ! Smite that cheek; there is no stain 



SONNETS ON THE WAR. 165 

But of the clay ! no flush of shame or pain. 

This is the smell o' the grave. Lift the gold crown 

And see that brow. Lo ! how the dews drip down 

The empty house ! The worm is on the walls, 

And the halt-shuttered lights are dull and dead 

With dusty desecration. The soul fled 

On a spring-day within thy palace-halls, 

Hapsburg ! and all the days of all the springs 

Of all the ages bring it not again I 

Vampyre ! we wrench thee from the breathing 

throat 
Of living Man, and he leaps up and flings 
Thy rotten carcase at the heads of Kings. 



CHILDLESS. 

The Son thou sentest forth is now a Thought — 

A Dream. To all but thee he is as nought 

As if he had gone back into the same 

Bosom that bare him. Oh, thou grey pale Dame, 

With eyes so wan and wide, what ! knowest thou 

where 
Thy Dream is such a thing as doth up-bear 
The earth out of its wormy place ? I' the air 
Dost see the very fashion of the stone 
That hath his face for clay ? Deep, deep, hast 

found 
The texture of that single weight of ground 
Which to each mole and mark that thou hast known 
Is special burden ? Nay, her face is mild 
And sweet. In Heaven the evening star is fair, 
And there the mother lookoth for her child. 



166 SONNETS ON THE WAR. 



THE COMMON GRAVE. 

Last night beneath the foreign stars I stood 

And saw the thoughts of those at home go by 

To the great grave upon the hill of blood. 

Upon the darkness they went visibly, 

Each in the vesture of its own distress. 

Among them there came One, frail as a sigh, 

And like a creature of the wilderness 

Dug with her bleeding hands. She neither cried 

Nor we[)t ; nor did she see the many stark 

And dead that lay unburied at her side. 

All night she toiled, and at that time of dawn 

When Day and Night do change their More and 

Less, 
And Day is More, I saw the melting Dark 
Stir to the last, and knew she laboured on. 



ESSE ET POSSE. 

The groan of fallen Hosts ; a torrid glare 
Of cities ; battle-cries of Right and Wrong 
Where armies shout to rocking fleets that roar 
On thundering oceans to the thundering shore 
And high o'er all — long, long prolonged, along 
The moaning caverns of the plaining air, — 
The cry of conscious Fate. The firmament 
Waves from above me like a tattered flag ; 
And as a soldier in his lowly tent 
Looks up when a shot strikes the helpless rag 
From o'er him, and beholds the canopy 
Of Heaven, so, sudden to my startled eye, 
The Heavens that shall be ! The dream fades. 

stand 
Among the mourners of a mourning land. 



SONNETS ON THE WAR. — CRAZED. 167 

GOOD NIGHT IN WAR-TIME. 

TO ALEXANDER SMITH. 

The stars we saw arise are high above, 
And yet our Evensong seems sung too soon. 
Good Night ! I lay my hand — with such a love 
As thou wert brother of my blood — upon 
Thy shoulder, and methinks beneath the moon 
Those sisters, Anglla and Caledon, 
Lean towards each other. Aye, for Man is one ; 
We are a host ruled by one trumpet-call, 
Where each, armed in his sort, makes as he may 
The general motion. The well-tuned array 
We see ; yet to what victory in what wars 
We see not ; but like the revolving stars 
Move on ourselves. The total march of all 
Or men or stars God knows. Lord, lead us on ! 



CRAZED. 

" The Spring again hath started on the course 
Wherein she seeketh Summer thro' the Earth. 
I will arise and go upon my way. 
It may be that the leaves of Autumn hid 
His footsteps from me ; it may be the snows. 

" He is not dead. There was no funeral ; 
I wore no weeds. He must be in the Earth. 
Oh where is he, that I may come to him 
And he may charm the fever of my brain. 

" Oh Spring I hope that thou wilt be my friend. 
Thro' the long weary summer I toiled sore ; 



168 CRAZED. 

Having much sorrow of the envious woods 

And groves that burgeoned round me where I 

came 
And when I would have seen him, shut him in. 

" Also the Honeysuckle and wild bine 
Being in Jove did hide him from my sight ; 
The Ash-tree bent above him ; vicious weeds 
Withheld me ; Willows in the River-wind 
Hissed at me, by the twilight, waving wands. 

" Also, for I have told thee, oh dear Spring, 
Thou knowest after I had sunk outworn 
In the late summer gloom till Autumn came, 
I looked up in the light of burning Woods 
And entered on my wayfare when I saw 
Gold on the ground and glory in the trees. 

" And all my further journey thou dost know ; 
My toils and outcries as the lusty world 
Grew thin to winter ; and my ceaseless feet 
In Vales and on stark Hills, till the first snow 
Fell, and the large rain of the latter leaves. 

" I hope that thou wilt be my friend, oh Spring, 
And give me service of thy winds and streams. 
It needs must be that he will hear thy voice 
For thou art much as I was when he woo'd 
And won me long ago beside the Dee. 

" If he should bend above you, oh ye streams 
And anywhere you look up into eyes 
And think the star of love hath found her mate 
And know, because of day, they are not stars ; 
Oh streams they are the eyes of my beloved! 
Oh murmur as I murmured once of old 
And he will stay beside you oh ye streams 
And I shall clasp him when my day is come. 



CRAZED. 169 

" Likewise I charge thee, west wind, zephyr wind, 

If thou shalt hear a voice more sweet than thine 

About a sunset rosetree deep in June, 

Sweeter than thine oh wind, when thou dost leap 

Into the tree with passion, putting by 

The maiden leaves that ruffle round their dame, 

And singest and art silent, — having dropt 

In pleasure on the bosom of the rose, — 

Oh wind it is the voice of my beloved ! 

Wake, wake, and bear me to the voice, oh wind ! 

"Moreover I do think that the spring birds 
Will be my willing servants. Wheresoe'er 
There mourns a hen-bird that hath lost her mate 
Her will I tell my sorrow — weeping hers. 

" And if it be a Lark whereto I speak 
She shall be ware of how my Love went up 
Sole singing to the cloud ; and evermore 
I hear his song but him I cannot see. 

" And if it be a female nightingale ^ 

That pineth in the depth of silent woods, 

I also will complain to her that night 

Is still. And of the creeping of the winds 

And of the sullen trees, and of the lone 

Dumb Dark. And of the Hstening of the stars. 

What have we done, what have we done, oh Night ! 

" Therefore oh Love the summer trees shall be 

My watch-towers. Whereso'er thou liest bound 

I will be there. For ere the spring be past 

I will have preached my dolour through the Land, 

And not a bird but shall have all my woe. 

— And whatsoever hath my woe hath me. 

" I charge you, oh ye flowers fresh from the dead, 
Declare if ye have seen him. You pale flowers 
Why do you quake and hang the head like me ? 



170 CUAZED. 

" You pallid flowers, why do ye watch the dust 
And tremble ? Ah you met him in your caves 
And shrank out shuddering on the wintry air. 

" Snowdrops you need not gaze upon the ground, 
Fear not. He will not follow ye ; for then 
I should be happy who am doomed to woe. 

" Only I bid ye say that he is there, 
That I may know my grief is to be borne 
And all my Fate is but the common lot." 

She sat down on a bank of Primroses 
Swayed to and fro, as in a wind of Thought 
That moaned about her, murmuring alow, 
'• The common lot, oh for the common lot." 

Thus spake she and behold a gust of grief 

Smote her. As when at night the dreaming 

wind 
Starts up enraged, and shakes the Trees and 



" Oh early Rain, oh passion of strong crying, 
Say dost thou weep oh Rain, for him or me ? 
Alas, thou also goest to the Earth 
And enterest as one brought home by fear. 

" Rude with much woe, with expectation wild. 
So dashest thou the doors and art not seen. 
Whose burial did they speak of in the skies ? 

" I would that there were any grass-green grave 
Where I might stand and say, ' Here lies my Love.' 
And sigh, and look down to him, thi'o' the Earth, 
And look up, thro' the clearing skies, and smile." 

Then the Day passed from bearing up the Heav- 
ens. 



CRAZED. 171 

The sky descended on the Mountain tops 
Unclouded ; and the stars embower'd the Night. 

Darkness did flood the Valley ; flooding her. 
And when the face of her great grief was hid 
Her callow heart, that like a nestling bird 
Clamoured, sank down with plaintive pipe and 

slow. 
Her cry was like a strange fowl in the dark ; 
" Alas Night," said she ; then, like a faint ghost, 
As tho' the owl did hoot upon the hills, 
" Alas Night." On the murky silence came 
Her voice like a white sea-mew on the waste 
Of the dark deep ; a-sudden seen and lost 
Upon the barren expanse of mid-seas 
Black with the Thunder. '' Alas Night " said 

she, 
" Alas Night." Then the stagnant season lay 
From hill to hill. But when the waning Moon 
Rose, she began with hasty step to run 
The wintry mead ; a wounded bird that seeks 
To hide its head when all the trees are bare. 
Silent, — for all her strength did bear her dread — 
Silent, save when with bursting heart she cried, 
Like one who wrestles in the dark with fiends, 
" Alas Night." With a dim wihl voice of fear 
As tho' she saw her sorrow by the moon. 

The morning dawns ; and earlier than the Lark 
She murmureth, sadder than the Nightingale. 

" I would I could believe me in that sleep 
When on our bridal morn I thought him dead, 
And dreamed and shrieked and woke upon his 
breast. 

" Oh God, I cannot think that I am blind. 
I think I see the beauty of the world. 
Perchance but I am blind, and he is near. 



172 cijazp:d. 

" Even as I felt his arm before I woke, 
And clinging to his bosom called on him, 
And wept, and knew and knew not it was he. 

" I do thank God I think that I am blind. 
There is a darkness thick about m)' heart 
And all I seem to see is as a dream. 
My lids have closed, and have shut in the world. 

" Oh Love, I pray thee take me by the hand ; 
I stretch my hand, oh Love, and quake with dread ; 
I thrust it, and [ know not where. Ah me 
What shall not seize the dark hand of the blind ? 

" How know I, being blind, I am on Earth ? 
I am in Hell, in Hell oh Love ! I feel 
There is a burning gulph before my feet ! 
1 dare not stir — and at my back the fiends ! 
I wind my arms, my arms that demons scorch. 
Pound this poor breast and all that thou shouldst 

save 
From rapine Husband, I cry out from Hell ; 
There is a gulph. They seize my flesh. (She 

shrieked.) 

" 1 will sink down here where I stand. All round 
How know I but the burning pit doth yawn? 
Here will I shrink and shrink to no more space 
Than my feet cover. (She wept.) So much up 
My mortal touch makes honest. Oh my Life, 
My Lord, my Husband ! Fool that cryest in 

vain ! 
Ah Angel ! What hast thou to do with Hell ? 

" And yet I do not ask thee, oh my Love, 
To lead me to thee where thou art in Heaven. 
Only I would that thou shouldst be my star, 
And whatsoever Fate thy beams dispense 
I am content. It shall be good to me. 



CRAZED. 173 

" But tho' I may not see thee, oh my Love, 
Yea tho' mine eyes return and miss thee still, 
And thou shoulclst take another shape than thine, 
Have pity on my lot, and lead me hence 
Where 1 may think of thee. To the old fields 
And wonted valleys where we once were blest. 
Oh Love all day I hear them, out of sight, 
The far Home where the Past abideth yet 
Beside the stream that prates of other days. 

" My Punishment is more than I can bear. 

My sorrow groweth big unto my time. 

Oil Love I would that I were mad. Oh Love, 

I do not ask that thou shouldst change my Fate, 

I will endure ; but oh my Life, my Lord, 

Being as thou art a throned saint in Heaven, 

If thou wouldst touch me and enchant my sense. 

And daze the anguish of my heart with dreams, 

And change the stop of grief ; and turn my soul 

A little devious from the daily march 

Of Reason, and the path of conscious woe 

And all the truth of Life ! Better, oh Love, 

In fond delusion to be twice betrayed. 

Than know so well and bitterly as I. 

Let me be mad. (She wept upon her knees.) 

" I will arise and seek thee. This is Heaven. 
I sat upon a cloud. It bore me in. 
It is not so, you Heavens ! I am not dead. 
Alas ! there have been pangs as strong as Death. 
It would be sweet to know that I am dead. 

" Even now I feel I am not of this world 
Which sayeth day and night, ' For all but thee,' 
And poureth its abundance night and day 
And will not feed the hunger in my heart. 

"I tread upon a dream, myself a dream, 
I cannot write my Being on the world, 
The moss grows unrespective where I tread. 



174 CRAZED. 

" I cannot lift mine eyes to the sunshine, 
Night is not for my slumber. Not for me 
Sink down the dark inexorable hours. 

' I would not keep or change the weary day ; 
I have no pleasure in the needless night 
And toss and wail that other hds may sleep. 

" T am a very Leper in the Earth. 
Her functions cast me out ; her golden wheels 
That harmless roll about unconscious Babes 
Do crush me. My place knoweth me no more. 

" I think that I have died, oh you sweet Heavens. 
I did not see the closing of the eyes. 
Perchance there is one death for all of us 
Whereof we cannot see the eyelids close. 

" Dear Love I do beseech thee answer me. 
Dear Love I think men's eyes behold me not. 
The air is heavy on these lips that strain 
To cry ; I do not warm the thing I touch ; 
The Lake oives back no image unto me. 

" I see the Heavens as one who wakes at noon 
From a deep sleep. Now shall we meet again ! 
The Country of the blest is hid from me 
Like Morn behind the Hills. The Angel smiles. 
I breathe thy name. He hurleth me from Heaven. 

" Now of a truth I know thou art on Earth. 
Break, break the chains that hold me back from 

thee. 
1 see the race of mortal men pass by ; 
The great wind of their going waves my hair ; 
I stretch my hands, I lay my cheek to them, 
In love ; they stir the down upon my cheek ; 
I cannot touch them, and they know not me. 



CKAZED. 175 



" Oh God ! I ask to live the saddest life ! 
I care not for it if I may but live ! 
I would not be anion j2; the dead, oh God ! 
I am not dead ! oh God, I will not die ! " 

So throbbed the trouble of this crazed heart. 
So on the broken mirror of her mind 
In bright disorder shone the shatter'd World. 
So, out of tune, in sympathetic chords. 
Her soul is musical to brooks and birds 
Winds, seasons, sunshine, Flowers, and maundering 
trees. 

Hear gently all the tale of her distress. 

The heart that loved her loves not now yet lives. 

What the eye sees and the ear hears — the hand 

That wooing led her thro' the rosy paths 

Of girlhood, and the lenten lanes of Love, 

The brow whereon she trembled her first kiss 

The lips that had sole privilege of hers. 

The eyes wherein she saw the Universe, 

The bosom where she slept the sleep of joy, 

The voice that made it sacred to her sleep 

With lustral vows ; that which doth walk the World 

Man among Men, is near her now. But He 

Who wandered with her thro' the ways of Youth, 

Who won the tender freedom of the lip. 

Who took her to the bosom dedicate 

And chaste with vows, who in the perfect whole 

Of gracious Manhood, was the god that stood 

In her young Heaven, round whom the subject stars 

Circled ; in whose dear train, where'er he passed 

Thronged charmed powers; at whose advancing feet 

Upspringing happy seasons and sweet times 

Made fond court carolling ; who but moved to stir 

All things submissive, which did magnify 

And wane as ever with his changing will 

She changed the centre of her infinite ; He 



176 TEtE HARPS OF HP^AVEN. 

In whom she worshipped Truth and did obey 
Goodness ; in whose sufficient love she felt 
Fond Dreamer ! the eternal smile of all 
Angels and men ; round whom, upon his neck, 
Her thoughts did hang; whom lacking they fell down 
Distract to the earth ; He whom she loced and who 
Loved her of old, — in the long days before 
Chaos, the empyrean days ! — (Poor heart 
She phrased it so) is no more : and oh God ! 
Thorough all Time and that transfigured Time 
We call Eternity, will be no more. 



THE HARPS OF HEAVEN. 

On a solemn day 

I clomb the shining bulwark of the skies : 

Not by the beaten way, 

But climbing by a prayer, 

That like a golden thread hung by the giddy stair 

Fleck'd on the immemorial blue. 

By the strong step-stroke of the brave and few, 

Who, stirr'd by echoes of far harmonies. 

Must either lay them down and die of love. 

Or dare 

Those empyrean walls that mock their starward 

eyes. 
But midway in the dread emprize 
The faint and fainter footsteps cease ; 
And, all my footing gone. 
Like one who gathers samphire, I hold on, 
And in the swaying air look up and down : 
And up and downlhrough answering vasts descry 
Nor Earth nor Heaven ; 
Above, 

The sheer eternal precipice ; below, 
The sheer eternal precipice. 



THE HAKPS OF HEAVEN. 177 

Then when I, 

Gigantic with my desperate agony, 

Felt even 

The knotted grasp of bodily despair 

Relaxing to let go, 

A mighty music, like a wind of light, 

Blew from the imminent height, 

And caught me in its splendour ; and, as flame 

That flickers and again aspires. 

Rose in a moment thither whence it came ; 

And I, that thought me lost, 

Fass'd to the top of all my dear desires. 

And stood among the everlasting host. 

Then turn'd I to a seraph whose swift hands, 

That lived angelic passion, struck his soul 

Upon a harp — a seraph fair and strong. 

And faultless for his harp and for his throne, 

And yet, among 

The Strength and Beauty of the heavenly bands. 

No more to be remember'd than some one 

Poor warrior, when a king of many kings 

Stamps on the fields, and rears his glittering crop 

Of standing steel, and the vex'd spirit wings 

Above the human harvest, and in vain 

Begins from morn till eve to sum the embattled 

plain ; 
Or when, 

After a day of peace, sudden and late 
The beacon flashes and the war-drums roll, 
And through the torches of the city gate, 
All the long winter night a martial race 
Streams to the nation's gathering-place. 
And, like as waterdrop to waterdrop, 
Pour on in changeless flood the innumerable men. 
I turn'd, and as from footing in mid-seas 
Looking o'er lessening waves thou mayst behqld 
The round horizon of anshadow'd gold, 
T, standing on an amethyst, look'd round 
12 



178 THE HARPS OF HEAVEN. 

The moving Heaven of Harpers throned and 

crown'd, 
And said, " Was it from these 
I heard the great sound ? " And he said — 

" What sound ? " 
Then I, grown bolder, seeing I had thriven 
To win reply — " This that I hear from thee, 
This that everywhere I hear, 
Rolling a sea of choristry 
Up and down the jewel of Heaven ; 
A sea which from thy seat of light, 
That seems more loud and bright 
Because more near. 

To the white twinkle of yon furthest portal, 
Swells up those circling shores of chrysolite. 
And, like an odorous luminous mist, doth leap the 

eternal walls, 
And falls 

In wreaths of melody 
Adown the azure mountain of the sky; 
And round its lower slopes bedew'd 
Breathes lost beatitude, 
And far away 

Low, low, below the last of all its lucent scarps, 
Sprinkles bewildering drops of immortality. 
O angel iair, thou know'st what I would say — 
This sound of harpers that I hear. 
This sound of harpers harping on their harps." 
Then he bent his head 
And shed a tear 
And said, 

" I perceive thou art a mortal." 
Then I to him — " Not only, O thou bright 
Seraphic Pity ! to a mortal ear 
These sacred sounds are dear. 
Or why withholdest not thy ceaseless hand ? 
And why, 

Far as my dazzled eye 
Can pierce the lustre of the radiant land, 



THE MAGYARS NKW-YEAK-KVE. 179 

See I the rapt celestial auditory, 

Each, while he blessed hears, gives back his bliss 

With never-tiring touch from golden harps like 

this ? " 
Then he to me — " Oh, wherefore hast thou trod 
Beyond the limit of thine earthly lot ? 
These that we bear 

Within our hands are instruments of glory, 
Wherewith, day without night, 
We make the glory of immortal light 
In the eyes of God. 
As for the sound, we hear it not ; 
Yet, speaking to thee, child of ignorance, 
I do remember that I loved it once, 
In the sweet lower air." — 
Yet he spake once more, — 
" But thou return to the remember'd shore ; 
Why shouldst thou leave thy nation, 
Thy city, and the house of all most dear? 
Do we not all dwell in eternity ? 
For we have been as thou, and thou 
Shalt be as we." 
And he lean'd and kissed me. 
Saying, — " But now 
Rejoice, O child, in other joys than mine ; 
Hear the dear music of thy mortal ear 
While yet it is the time with thee, 
Nor make haste to thine exaltation. 
Though our state be better than thine." 



THE MAGYAR'S NEW-YEAR-EVE. 

[1859.] 

By Tem^svar I hear the clarions call : 

The Year dies. Let it die. It lived in vain. 



180 THE Magyar's nkw-year-eve. 

Gun booms to gun along the looming wall, 
Another year advances o'er the plain. 
The Despot hails it from his bannered keep : ^ 
Ah, Tyrant, is it well to break a bondsman's sleep ? 

He might have dreamed, and solved the conscious 

throes 
Of Time and Fate in some soft vision blest : 
Sighed his thick breath in childhood's happy woes, 
Or spent the starry tumult of the breast 
On some dear dreamland maid, nor known how 

high 
The blind heart beats to hours like this. 'T is nigh ! 

Lo in the air a trouble and a strife : 

I feel the Future. Mighty days to come 

Strain the strong leash a moment into Life : 

Shapes beckon : voices clamour and are dumb : 

And viewless nations charge upon the blast 

That blows the spectral host to silence, and is past. 

Hark, hark ! the great hour strikes ! The stroke 

peals " one ; " 
Again ! again ! God ! Have the earth and sky 
Stopped breathing ? Will it never end ? 'T is done. 
The years are rent asunder with a cry, 
The big world groans from all her gulphs and 

caves, 
And sleeping Freedom stirs, and rocks the mar- 
tyrs' graves. 

Oh ye far Few, who, battleworn and grey. 
Watch from wild peaks the plains where once ye 

bled, 
Oh ye who but in fortune less than they 
Keep the lone vigil of the immortal Dead, 
Behold ! And, like a fire from steep to steep. 
Draw, draw the dreadful swords whereon ye lean 

and weep ! 



THE Magyar's new-year-evk. 181 

And oh you great brave harvest, that, war-ploughed 
And sown with men, a grateful country yields, 
You bearded youth who, beardless, saw the proud 
Ancestral glories of those smoking fields 
That now beneath ten grassy years lie cold, 
Kise ! Shew your children how your fathers fought 
of old ! ' 

But we are fettered, and a bondsman's ire 
Ht)we'er it flash can only end in show'rs. 
Who shall unlade these limbs ? Alas, the fire 
Of passion will not melt such chains as ours ; 
We have but heated them in wrath of men 
To harden them in women's tears. What then ? 

Less than both hands at once what Freeman gives 
To Freedom ? Stand up where the Tyrant stands, 
Draw in one breath the strength of slavish lives, 
Lift the twin justice of your loaded hands. 
And with that double thunder in the veins 
Launch on his fated head the vengeance of your 
chains ! 

They hear ! I see them thro' dissolving night ! 
Like sudden woods they rise upon the hills ! 
The mountains stream with a descending sight, 
The hollow ear of vacant darkness fills. 
From side to side the living landscape warms. 
To arms ! Yon bleeding cloud is speared ! Day 
breaks ! To arms ! 

Aye, Tyrant, the day breaks. Look up and fear. 
To arms ! A greater day than day is born ! 
To arms ! A larger light than light is near ! 
A blacker night than midnight foams with morn ! 
Arise, arise, my Country, from the flood ! 
Arise, thou god of day, and dye the east with 
blood ! 



182 



ISABEL. 

[1847.] 

In the most early morn 

I rise from a damp pillow, tempest-tost, 

To seek the sun with silent gaze forlorn, 

And mourn for thee, my lost 

Isabel. 

That early hour I meet 

The daily vigil of my life to keep. 

Because there are no other lights so sweet, 

Or shades so long and deep, 

Isabel. 

And best I think of thee 

Beside the duskest shade and brightest sun. 

Whose mystic lot in life it was to be 

Outshone, outwept by none, 

Isabel. 

Men said that thou wert fair : 

There is no brightness in the heaven above. 

There is no balm upon the summer air 

Like thy warm love, 

Isabel. 

Men saw that thou wert bright : 

There is no wildness in the winds that blow. 

There is no darkness in the winter's night 

Like thy dark woe, 

Isabel. 

And yet thy path did miss 

Men's footsteps : in their haunts thou hadst 

joy; 



ISABEL. 18o 

The thoughts of other worlds were thine in this ; 
In thy sweet piety, and in thy bliss 
And grief, for life too coy, 
Isabel. 

And so my heart's despair 

Looks for thee ere the firstling smoke hath curled ; 

AVhile the wrapt earth is at her morning pray'r, 

Ere yet she putteth on her workday air 

And robes her for the world, 

Isabel. 

When the sun-burst is o'er 

My lonely way about the world I take, 

Doing and saying much, and feeUng more, 

And all things for thy sake, 

Isabel. 

But never once I dare 

To see thine image till the day be new, 

And lip hath sullied not the unbreathed air, 

And waking eyes are few, 

Isabel. 

Then that lost form appears 

Which was a joy to few on earth but me : 

In the young light I see thy guileless glee, 

In the deep dews thy tears, 

Isabel. 

So with Promethean moan 
In widowhood renewed I learn to grieve ; 
Blest with one only thought — that I alone 
Can fade ; that thou thro' years shalt still shine 

on 
In beauty, as in beauty art thou gone, 
Thou morn that knew no eve, 
Isabel. 



184 THE CONVALESCENT TO HER PHYSICIAN. 

In beauty art thou gone ; 

As some bright meteor gleams across the night, 
. Gazed on by all, but understood by none, 
And dying by its own excess of light, 
Isabel. 



TO THE AUTHORESS OF " AURORA 
LEIGH." 

AVere Shakspeare born a twin, his lunar twin 
(Not of the golden but the silver bow) 
Should be like thee : so, with such eyes and brow. 
Sweeten his looks, so, with her dear sex in 
His voice, (a king's words writ out by the queen) 
Unman his bearded English, and, with flow 
Of breastfull robes about her female snow, 
Present the lordly brother. Oh Last-of-kin 
There be ambitious Women here on earth 
Who will not thank thee to have sung so well ! 
Apollo and Diana are one birth, 
Pollux and Helen break a single shell. 
Who now may hope V While Adam was alone" 
Eve was to come. She came ; God's work was 
done. 



THE CONVALESCENT TO HER PHYSI- 
CIAN. 

Friend, by whose cancelling hand did Fate for- 
give 
Her debtor, and rescribe her stern award, 
Oh with that happier light wherein I live 
May all thine after years be sunned and starred ! 



SAMUEL BROWN. 185 

May God, to Whom my daily bliss I give 
In tribute, add it to thy day's reward, 
And mine uncurrent joy mayst thou receive 
Celestial sterling ! Aye and thou shalt thrive 
Even by my vanished woes : for as the sea 
Renders its griefs to Heaven, which fall in rains 
Of sweeter plenty on the happy plains, 
So have my tears exhaled ; and may it be 
That from the favouring skies my lifted pains 
Descend, oh friend, in blessings upon thee ! 



SAMUEL BROWN. 



[Died, on the twentieth of September, 1856, at Morn- 
ingside, near Edinburg, Dr. Samuel Brown, well-known 
and dear to the fit and few throughovit England and Scot- 
land. He was sti-uck with mortal illness when on the 
eve of completing the scientific labours to which his splen- 
did talents had been devoted ; and, after eight painful 
years of patient and unconquered hope, was obliged to 
leave the demonstration of his discoveries to the good 
fortune of future times.] 



He came with us to thy great gates, oh Thou 
Uuopened Age. Our noise was like the wind 
Chafing the wordy Deep ; but broad and blind 
They stood unmoved. Then He, — we knew not 

how, — 
Laid forth his hand upon them. Lo, they grind 
Revolving thunders ! Lo, on his dark brow 

The unknown light ! Lo 

Azrael came behind 

And touched him. They clanged back, and all 

was Now. 
We wondered and forgot : but He, unbent. 



180 EPIGKAM. 

With eye still strained to the forbidden day, 
Towered in the likeness of his great intent 
As If his act should be his monument, 
Till Azrael pitied such sublime dismay, 
And led him onward by another way. 



TO PROFESSOR AND MRS. J. S. 
BLACKIE. 

If Time that feeds love dies to die no more, 
Immortal hours, dear friends, were yours and mine ; 
For Morn that on the hills oped eyes divine. 
And Eve that walked like Mary by the shore 
Where that old Dreamer, as he built, of yore. 
Saw her, and told his dream in such a shrine * 
As was a kind of Mary, and the shine 
Of Noon, and starry censers swinging o'er 
With Night, all made ye dearer : thou whose soul. 
Palimpsest of a dead and living world, 
Taketh nor dust from that nor stain from this, 
And thou who with thyself hast so empearled 
The Avriting — knowing well how rare it is — 
That the scrolled jewels and the jewelled scroll 
In total more than both complete a married whole. 



EPIGRAM 

ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD FORBES. 

Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low. 

He woo'd and won her ; and, by love made bold. 

She shewed him more than mortal man should 

know. 
Then slew him lest her secret should be told. 

* Tintern Abbey, dedicated to the Vii'^in. 



THE SNOWDROP IN THE SNOW. 187 



EPIGRAM 

ON A PORTRAIT PRESENTED TO J. Y. SIMPSON, 
M. D. 

Unto myself my better self you gave. 

I give yourself yourself; but Ah, my friend, 

In how inverse a ratio ! To amend 

The unjust return these thanks are all I have, 

Except a sigh, when that poor " all " is o'er. 

To feel, alas, no less your debtor than before. 



THE SNOWDROP IN THE SNOW. 

FULL of Faith! The Earth is rock, — the 

Heaven 
The dome of a great palace all of ice, 
Russ-built. Dull light distils through frozen skies 
Thickened and gross. Cold Fancy droops her wing, 
And cannot range. In winding-sheets of snow 
Lies every thought of any pleasant thing. 

1 have forgotten the green earth ; my soul 
Deflowered, and lost to every summer hope. 
Sad sitteth on an iceberg at the Pole ; 

My heart assumes the landscape of mine eyes 
Moveless and white, chill blanched with hoarest 

rime ; 
The Sun himself is heavy and lacks cheer 
Or on the eastern hill or western slope ; 
The world without seems far and long ago ; 
To silent woods stark famished winds have driven 
The last lean robin — gibbering winds of fear ! 
Thou only darest to believe in spring. 
Thou only smilest. Lady of the Time ! 



188 THE SNOWDROP IN THE SNOW. 

Even as the stars come up out of the sea 

Thou risest from the Earth. How is it down 

In the dark depths ? Should I delve there, O 

Flower 
For beauty ? Shall I find the Summer there 
Met manifold, as in an ark of peace ? 
And Thou, a lone white Dove art thou sent forth 
Upon the winter deluge V It shall cease. 
But not for thee — pierced by the ruthless North 
And spent Avith the Evangel. In what hour 
The flood abates thou wilt have closed thy wings 
For ever. When the happy living things 
Of the old world come forth upon the new 
I know my heart shall miss thee ; and the dew 
Of summer twilights shall shed tears for me 
— Tears liker thee, ah, purest ! than mine own — 
Upon thy vestal grave, O vainly fair ! 

Thou should'st have noble destiny, who, like 
A Prophet, art shut out from kind and kin : 
Who on the winter silence comest in 
A still small voice. Pale Hermit of the Year, 
Flower of the Wilderness ! oh, not for thee 
The jocund playmates of the maiden spring. 
For when she danceth forth with cymballed feet, 
Waking a-sudden with great welcoming, 
Each calling each, they burst from hill to dell 
In answering music. But thou art a bell 
A passing bell, snow-muffled, dim and sweet. 

As is the Poet to his fellow-men. 
So mid thy drifting snows, O Snowdrop, Thou, 
(lifted, in sooth, beyond them, but no less 
A snowdrop. And thou shalt complete his lot 
And bloom as fair as now when they are not. 
Thou art the wonder of the seasons, O 
First-born of Beauty. As the Angel near 
Gazed on that first of living things which, when 
The blast that ruled since Chaos o'er the sere 



THE SNOWDROP IN THE SNOW. 189 

Leaves of primeval Palms did sweep the plain, 

Clung to the new-made sod and would not drive, 

So gaze I upon thee amid the reign 

Of Winter. And because thou livest, I live. 

And art thou happy in thy loneliness ? 

Oh couldst thou hear the shouting of the floods, 

Oh couldst thou know the stir among the trees 

When — as the herald-voice of breeze on breeze 

Proclaims the marriage pageant of the Spring 

Advancing from the South — each hurries on 

His wedding-garment, and the love-chimes ring 

Thro' nuptial valleys ! No, serene and lone, 

I will not flush thy cheek with joys like these. 

Songs for the rosy morning ; at grey prime 

To hang the head and pray. Thou doest well. 

I will not tell thee of the bridal train. 

No ; let thy Moonlight die before their day 

A Nun among the Maidens, thou and they. 

Each hath some fond sweet office that doth strike 

One of our trembling heartstrings musical. 

Is not the hawthorn for the Queen of May ? 

And cuckoo-flowers for whom the cuckoo's voice 

Hails, like an answering sister, to the woods ? 

Is not the maiden blushing in the rose ? 

Shall not the babe and buttercup rejoice 

Twins in one meadow ? Are not violets all 

By name or nature for the breast of Dames ? 

For them the primrose, pale as star of prime, 

For them the wind-flower, trembling to a sigh, 

For them the dew stands in the eyes of day 

That blink in April on the daisied lea ? 

Like them they flourish and like them they fade 

And live beloved and loving. But for thee — 

For such a bevy how art thou arrayed 

Flower of the Tempests ? What hast thou with 

them ? 
Thou shalt be pearl unto a diadem 
Which the Heavens jewel. They shall deck the 

brows 



190 TO A CATHEDRAL TOWER. 

Of joy and wither there. But thou shalt be 
A Martyr's garland. Thou who, undismayed, 
To thy spring dreams art true amid the snows 
As he to better dreams amid the flames. 



TO A CATHEDRAL TOWER, 

ON THE EVENING OF THE THIRTY-FIFTH ANNI- 
VERSARY OF WATERLOO. 

And since thou art no older, 't is to-day ! 

And I, entranced, — with the wide sense of gods 

Confronting Time — receive the equal touch 

Of Past and Present. Yet I am not moved 

To frenzy ; but, with how much calm befits 

The insufficient passions of a soul 

Expanding to celestial limits, take 

Ampler vitality, and fill, serene. 

The years that are and were. Unchanging Pile ! 

Our schoolboy fathers play in yonder streets, 

Wherethro' their mothers, new from evening 

prayer, 
Speak of the pleasant eve, and say Good Night. 
Say on ! to whom oh never more shall night 
Seem good ; to whom for the last time hath eve 
Been pleasant ! Look up to the sunset skies 
As a babe smiles into his murderer's face, 
Nor see the Fate that flushes all the heaven 
Unconscious Mother ! Hesper thro' the trees 
Palpitates light ; and thou, beholding peace, 
Keepest thy vigil and art fond to think 
His heart is beating for a world of bliss. 
" Oh Sabbath Land ! " Ah Mother, doth thine ear 
Discern new silence ? Dost thou dream what right 
The earth may have to seem so still to thee ? 
Oh Sabbath Land ! but on the Belgian plain 



TO A OATHEDKAL TOWEH. 191 

The bolt has fallen ; and the storm draws off 

In scattered thunders groaning round the hills 

And tempest-drops of woe upon the field. 

The king of men has turned his charger's head 

Whose hoofs did shake the world, but clatter now 

Unheeding sod. He turns, and in his track 

The sorrows of the centuries to come 

Cry on the air. He rides into the night, 

Which as a dreadful spirit hails him in 

With lightnings and with voices. Far behind. 

In the War-marish, Victory and Glory 

Fall by each other's hands, like friends of old, 

Unconquered. And the genius of his race 

Pale, leaning on a broken eagle, dies. 

High in the midst departing freedom stands 

On hills of slain ; her wings unfurled, her hands 

Toward heaven, her eyes turned, streaming, on the 

earth, 
In act to rise. And all the present Fortunes, 
Hopes, Oracles, and Omens of the world 
Sitting alow, as mourners veiled and dumb, 
Draw, with weird finger, in the battle-slime 
The signs of Fate. Behold whom War salutes 
Victor of victors. War, red-hot with toil. 
Spokesman of Death. Death, pale with sated lust 
And hoarse with greed. Behold ! At his strong call 
The bloody dust takes life, and obscene shapes 
Clang on contending wings, wild wheeling round 
His head exulting. How they hate the light 
And rout the fevered sunset that looks back 
Obtesting ! How they scream up at the stars 
And smite in rage the invisible air ! How, like 
A swoop of black thoughts thro' a stormy soul 
They rush about the Victor and snatch joys 
For all the tyrants of the darkened globe. 
AVho shall withstand him V Him the evening star 
Trembled to see. Our despots, from the first, 
Bequeathed him each a feature, and he walks 
The sum of all oppression and the sign. 



192 TO A CATIIEDKAL TOWER. 

Earth ! O Heaven ! O Life ! O Death ! O Man ! 
Flesh of my flesh, my brother ! Is there hope ? 
Soul, soul ! behold the portent of the time. 

High in the heaven, the angels, much-attent, 

With conscious faces and averted eyes 

(As one who feels the wrong he will not see,) 

Gaze upon God, and neither frown nor smile. 

Grey Pile, 

Who lookest with thy kindred hills upon 

This quiet England, shadow-robed for sleep, 

1 also speak to thee as one whom kin 
Emboldens. Demigod among the gods 

I charge thee by thy human nature speak ! 

Doth she sleep well ? Thou who hast watched her 

face 
Tell me, for thou canst tell, doth the flesh creep ? 
Ah ! and the soil of Albion stirred that day ! 
Ah ! and these fields, at midnight, heaved with 

graves ! 

The vision ends. Collapsing to a point 

In Time, I see thee, oh red Waterloo, 

A deadly wound now healed. From whose great 

scar 
Upon the brow of Man, the bloody husks, 
Have newly fallen. 'T was a Felon's blow 
On one who reeling, drunk with life, above 
A precipice, fell by the timely steel ; 
Bled, and, deplete, was whole ; saw with sane eyes 
The gulph that yawned ; and rises, praising God, 
To bind the Assassin. 



THE ROMAN. 

A DRAMATIC POEM. 



NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



That I suffer this Second Edition to go forth without 
the customary revision and correction, requires, in mod- 
esty, a word of explanation. 

Of the faults of the book I am fully conscious. I knew 
them when it went to press, I never forgot them in the 
applause of a generous reception, and if I ever look into 
it again, they will, doubtless, be additionally offensive. 

But I did in}'- best in 1849; and in 1852 Twill not alter 
what was done. Whether I can yield purer poetry at 
eight and twenty than when I wrote ''The Roman" at 
twenty-five, my readers may in due time have occasion 
to consider; but — classic authority to the contrary not- 
withstanding — I hold that to beautify the work of that 
day by passing some of its members through the mind 
of this, were to borrow the expedient of that ambitious 
artisan, who recast the limbs of Cupid in the mould of 
Psyche. 

What I have written I have written. The words " Dra 
matic Poem " in the Title are not mine. " Poetry" and 
" A Poem " are not necessarily sequipoUents. In the 
next few years I hope to write more " Poetry; " ten years 
hence, if God please, A Poem. 

S. D. 
Feb. 1852, 

13 



THE ROMAN. 

SCENE I. 

A Plain in Italy — an ancient Battle-Jield. Time, Evening. 

Persons. — Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. 
He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the 
Unity of Italy, the Overthrow oj" Austrian Domination, and 
the Bestorafion of a great Roman Republic. A num- 
ber of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. " The 
Monh ' ' is mxising. 

Enter Dancers. 

Dancers. Sing lowly, foot slowly, oh why should 
we chase 

The hour that gives heaven to this earthly embrace ? 

To-morrow, to-morrow, is dreary and lonely ; 

Then love as they love who would live to love only ! 

Closer yet, eyes of jet, — breasts fair and sweet ! 

No eyes flash like those eyes that flash as they meet ! 

Weave brightly, wear lightly, the warm-woven 
chain, 

Love on for to-night if we ne'er love again. 

Fond youths ! happy maidens ! we are not alone ! 

Bright steps and sweet voices keep pace with our 
own. 

Love-lorn Lusignuolo, the soft-sighing breeze, 

The rose with the zephyr, the wind with the trees. 

While Heaven, blushing pleasure, is full of love- 
notes, 

Soft down the sweet measure the fairy world floats. 



THK KOMAN. IVo 

The MojiK advances, meets the Dancers, and points to the 
turf at their Jeei. 

The Monk. Do you see nothing there, 

There, where the unrespective grass grows green, 
There at your very feet '? Nay, not one step ! 
'T would touch it ! 't would profane it ! Palsied be 
The limb that treads that ground! There is a grave — 
There is a grave ; — I saw it with these eyes — 
A grave ! I saw it with these eyes ! It holds — 
It holds — oh Heaven ! — my mother ! 

One of the Revellers. Peace, good Padre, 
Look to thy beads. The turf is level here. 
Comrades ! strike up ! " Sing lowly, foot " 

The Monk. Who steps, 

Steps first on me. 1 say there is a grave, 
I say it is my mother's : that I loved her, 
Ay, loved her with more passion than the maddest 
Lover among ye clasps his one-day wife ! 
And I steal forth to keep my twilight vigil. 
And you come here to dance upon my heart. 
You come and — with the world at will for dalliance, 
The whole hot world — deny me that small grave 
Whose bitter margin these poor knees know better 
Than your accustom'd feet the well-worn path 
To your best harlot's bower. The turf is fair ! 
Have I not kept it green with tears, my mother ? 
You lustful sons of lax-eyed lewdness, do you 
Come here to sing above her bones, and mock me, 
Because my flesh and blood cry out, " God save 

them ? " 
May the Heaven's blight 

One of the Revellers. Nay, holy father, nay. 
We would not harm thee. Be it as thou wilt. 
Holy Madonna ! there is little dust 
In this old land, but has been son or mother 
In its own day. What ho ! my merry friends. 
Come, we must dance upon some other grave. 
Farewell, good father ! 

Another Reveller. Save you, father I 



196 THE ROMAN. 

Another. Think not, 

We would insult thy sorrow. 

The Monk. Well, forgive me. 

I pray yoa listen how I loved my mother, 
And you will weep with me. She loved me, nurst 

me, 
And fed my soul with light. Morning and Even 
Praying, I sent that soul into her eyes, 
And knew what Heaven was though I was a 

child. 
I grew in stature, and she grew in goodness. 
I was a grave child ; looking on her taught me 
To love the beautiful : and I had thoughts 
Of Paradise, when other men have hardly 
Look'd out of doors on earth. ( Alas ! alas ! 
That I have also learn'd to look on earth 
When other men see heaven.) I toil'd, but ever 
As I became more holy, she seem'd holier ; 
Even as when climbing mountain-tops the sky 
Grows ampler, higher, purer as ye rise. 
Let me believe no more. No, do not ask me 
How I repaid my mother. O thou saint, 
That lookest on me day and night from heaven 
And smilest, 1 have given thee tears for tears. 
Anguish for anguish, woe for woe. Forgive me 
If, in the spirit of ineffable penance 
In words, I waken up the guilt that sleeps. 
Let not the sound afflict thine heaven, or colour 
That pale, tear-blotted record wliich the angels 
Keep of my sins. We left her. I and all 
The brothers that her milk had fed. We left 

her — 
And strange dark robbers, with unwonted names, 
Abused her ! bound her ! pillaged her ! profaned 

her ! 
Bound her clasped hands, and sagg'd the tremb- 

ling lips 
That pray'd for her lost children. And we stood 
And she knelt to us, and we saw her kneel, 



THK ROMAN. 197 

And look'd upon her coldly and denied her ! 
Denied her in her agony — and counted 
Before her sanguine eyes the gold that bought 
Her pangs. VVe stood — 

One of the Revellers. Nay, thou cowl'd ruffian ! 
hold ! 
There 's vengeance for thee yet ! Dost thou come 

here 
To blast our hearing with thy damned crimes ? 
Seize on him, comrades, tear him limb from limb ! 

The Monk. Yes, seize him ! tear him ! tear 
him ! he will bless thee 
If thy device can work a deeper pain 
Than he will welcome and has suffer'd. Tear him ! 
But, friends, not yet. Hear her last tortures. 

Then 
Find, if ye can, some direr pang for me. 
The Robbers wearied, and they bade us hold her, 
Lest her death-struggles should get free. She 

look'd 
Upon me with the face that lit my childhood, 
She call'd me with the voices of old times, 
She blest me in her madness. But, they show'd us 
Gold, and we seized upon her, held her, bound her. 
Smote her. She murmur'd kind words, and I 

gave her 
Blows. 

One Auditor. Fiend I 

Another. Hound ! 

Another. Demon ! 

Another. Strike him ! 

Another. Hold him down ! 

Kill him for hours ! 

The Monk. Why, how now, countrymen ? 

How now, you slaves that should be Romans ? 

Ah! 
And you will kill me that I smote my mother ? 
Well done, well done, a righteous doom ! I smote 
My mother ? Hold ! My mother, did I say ! 



198 THE ROMAN. 

My mother V Mine, yours, ours ! 

One Auditor. Seize him. 

AIL Die, liar ! 

Die. 

The Monk. But my brothers — will you seize 
my brothers ? 
What ! will you let that cursed band escape 
That hoard the very «old that slew her ? Make 
A full end. Finish up the work. You cowards ! 
What ! you can pounce on an unarm'd poor man. 
But tremble at the gilded traitors ! 

All. " Name them ! 

They shall die ! Point them out ! where are they ? 

The Monk. Here ! 

You are my brothers. And my mother was 
Yours. And each man among you day by day 
Takes, bowing, the same price that sold my 

mother. 
And does not blush. Her name is Rome. Look 

round. 
And see those features which the sun himself 
Can hardly leave for fondness. Look upon 
Her mountain bosom, where the very sky 
Beholds with passion : and with the last proud 
Imperial sorrow of dejected empire, 
She wraps the purple round her outraged breast, 
And even in fetters cannot be a slave. 
Look on the world's best glory and worst shame. 
You cannot count her beauties or her chains, 
You cannot know her pangs or her endurance. 
You, whom propitious skies may hardly coax 
To threescore years and ten. Your giant fathers 
Call'd Atla^s. demigod. But what is she. 
Who, worn with eighteen centuries of bondage, 
Stands manacled before the world, and bears 
Two hemispheres — innumerable wrongs. 
Illimitable glories. Oh, thou heart 
That art most tortured, look on her and say 
If there be any thing in earth or heaven. 



THE ROMAN. 199 

In earth or heaven — now that Christ weeps no 

longer — 
So most divinely sad. Look on her. Listen 
To all the tongues with which the earth cries out. 
Flowers, fbuntaing, winds, woods, spring and sum- 
mer incense, 
Morning and eve — these are her voices — hear 

them ! 
Kemember how, in the old innocent days 
Of your young childhood, these sang blessings on 

you. 
Remember how you danced to those same voices, 
And sank down tired, and slept in joy, not 

doubting 
That they would sing to-morrow ; and remember 
How when some hearts that danced in those old 

days. 
And worn out laid them down, and have not 

waken'd, 
Gave back no answer to the morning sun, 
She took them to her mother's breast and still 
Holds them imweary, singing by their slumbers. 
And though you have forgotten them remembers 
To strew their unregarded graves with flowers. 
Oh those old days, those canonized days ! 
Oh that bright realm of sublunary heaven, 
Wherein they walk'd in haloes of sweet light. 
And we look'd up, unfearing, and drew near 
And learnt of them what no succeeding times 
Can tell us since of joy ; — for so, being angels, 
They suffer'd little children. Oh those days ! 
Why is it that we hear them now no more ? 
And the same destiny that brought us pangs 
Took every balsam hence ? Did we wake up 
From infancy's last slumber in a new 
And colder world ? My mother, thou shalt 

answer ! 
I hear thee — see thee. The same soul informs 



200 THE KOMAN. 

The present that look'd once through undimm'd 

eyes 
In Childhood's past. What though it shines 

through tears ? 
It shines. What though it speak;s with trembhng 

hps, 
Tuned to such grief that they say bright words 

sadly ? 
It speaks. And by that speech thou art the 

mother 
That bore us ! Oh you sons of hers, remember 
When joy had grown to passion, and high youth 
Had aim'd the shafts that lay in Childhood's quiver, 
If you have ever gone out, (and each Roman 
Heart must have note of one such better day,) 
Full of high thoughts, ambitions, destinies. 
And stood, downcast, among her ruin'd altars, 
And fed the shameful present with the past ; 
And felt thy soul on the stern food grow up 
To the old Roman stature : and hast started 
To feel a hundred nameless things, which Kings 
Call sins, — and Patriots, virtues : and self-judged, 
Conscious and purple with the glorious treason, 
Hast lifted flashing eyes, bold with great futures, 
And in one glance challenged her earth, seas, 

skies, 
And they have said, " Well Done." And thou 

hast felt 
Like a proud child whom a proud mother blesses. 
Ah ! vour brows kindle ! What I I have said 

well ? 
What ! there are some among you who have been 
The heroes of an hour ? you men of Parma, 
What ! you were Romans once ! you worse than 

slaves, 
Who, being Romans once, are men of Parma ! 
Tried on the Roman habit, and could wear it 
But a short hour on your degenerate limbs ! 
Sons of the empress of the world, and slaves 



THE ROMAN. 201 

To powers a Roman bondman would not count 
Upon his fingers on a holiday ! 
Do not believe me yet. She is no mother, 
Who has but nursed your joy and pride. Remem- 
ber, 
if thou hast ever wept without a heart 
To catch one tear, and in the lonely anouish 
Of thy neglected agony look'd out 
On this immortal world, and seen — love-stricken — 
Light after light her shadowy joys take up 
Thy lorn peculiar sorrow, till thy soul 
Seem'd shed upon the universe, and grief, 
Deponent of its separate sadness, clung 
To the stupendous dolour of all things. 
And wept with the great mourner, and smiled with 

her 
When she came back to sunshine — witii the joy 
Of a young child after the first great grief 
Wherein a mother's holy words first spake 
To the young heart of God. But I am dreaming ; 
You have not wept as I have. Yet remember. 
If she hath shown you softer signs than these — 
If there are none among you who have given 
To her chaste beauty, to the woods and mountains. 
And lone dim places, sorrowfully sweet, 
Where love first learns to hear himself, and blush 

not — 
Thoughts which you would deny me at confession, 
Thoughts, which although the peril of a soul 
Hung on their utterance, would have gone unborn 
In silence down to hell, unblest, unshriven, 
And, in despairing coyness, daring all. 
Because they could dare nothing. Like the shy 
Scared bird, to which the serpent's jaws are better 
Than his rude eyes. And yet you gave them to 

HKR, 

And these same ti-embling phantasies went forth, 
To meet the storms that shake the Apennines, 
And did not fear. And so you callYl her mother, 



202 THK ROMAN. 

And so the invisible in you confest 

The unseen in her ; and so you bore your witness 

To her august maternity, and she 

Reflected back the troth. Remember, so 

Great Romulus and those who after him 

Built the Eternal City, and their own 

Twin-born eternity — even as the workman 

Is greater than the work — stood at her knee, 

And brighten'd in her blessing ; and remember 

If they were sons like you ! What ! can dead 

names 
Stir living blood ? Fear not, my countrymen ! 
They are not German chieftains that I spoke of. 
Tremble not, brethren, they are not our lords. 
Ou7' lords ! they conquered men. They are some 

souls 
That once took tiesh and blood in Italy, 
And thought it was a laud to draw free breath in, 
And drew it long, and died here ; and since live 
Everywhere else. What ! your brows darken ! 

what ! 
1 wronged you foully ; 't was no fear that daubed 

them : 
AVhat ! your cheeks flush as some old soldier's 

child. 
Glows at inglorious ease when a chance tongue 
Speaks of the triumph where his father fell ! 
What then ! these dead are yours ! Men, what 

are they ? 
What are they ? — ask the world and it shall an- 
swer. 
And you? True, true, you have your creed ; you 

tell me 
That twice a thousand years have not outworn 
The empire in that blood ot theirs that floAvs 
In your dull veins. You tell me you are Romans ! 
Yet they were lords and you are slaves ; the earth 
Heard them and shook. It shakes, perchance, for 

you ; 



THE ROMAN. 203 

Shakes with the laugh of scorn that there are 

thinos 
Who Hck the dust tliat falls from Austrian feet, 
And call the gods their fathers V Bear with me, 
I am not here to reckon up your shames, 
I will know nothino- here but my wrong'd mother. 
I cry before heaven she is yours. That you 
May kill me for the part I bore, and then 
Do judgment on yourselves. Look on that mother 
Whose teeming loins peopled with gods and heroes 
Earth and Olympus — sold to slaves whose base 
Barbarian passions had been proud to swell 
In death a Boman pageant. Every limb 
Own'd by some separate savage — each charm lent 
To some peculiar lust. The form that served 
The world for signs of beauty, parcell'd out 
A carcase on the shambles, where small kings, 
Like unclean birds, hang round the expected car- 
rion, 
And chaffer for the corpse which shall not die ! 
Look on that mother and behold her sons ! 
Alas, she might be Bome if there were Bomans ! 
Look on that mother ! Wilt thou know that death 
Can have no part in Beauty ? Cast to-day 
A seed into the earth, and it shall bear thee 
The flowers that waved in the Egyptian hair 
Of Pharaoh's daughter ! Look upon that mother — 
Listen, ye slaves, who gaze on her distress. 
And turn to dwell with clamorous descant, 
And prying eye, on some strange small device 
Upon her chains. In no imperial feature, 
In no sublime perfection, is she less 
Than the world's empress, the earth's paragon, 
Except these bonds. These bonds ? Break them. 

Unbind, 
Unbind Andromeda ! She was not born 
To stand and shiver in the northern blast, 
Or fester on a foreign rock, or bear, 
Bude licence of the unrespective waves. 



204 THE ROMAN. 

She is a queen ! a goddess! a king's daughter ! 
What though her loveliness defied the heavens ; 
Unbind her, she shall fill them ! Man, unbind her, 
And, goddess as she is, she owns thee, loves thee, 
Crowns thee ! And is there none to break thy 

chains, 
My country ? Is there none, sons of my mother? 
Strike, and the spell is broken. You behold her 
Suppliant of suppliants. Strike ! and she shall 

stand 
Forth in her awful beauty, more divine 
Than death or mortal sorrow ; clothing all 
The wrecks and ruins of disastrous days 
In old-world glory — even as the first spring 
After the deluge. Why should we despair ? 
The heroes whom your fathers took for gods, 
Walk'd in her brightness, and received no more 
Than she gives back to you, who are not heroes. 
And have not yet been men. They toil'd and bled, 
And knew themselves immortal, when they hung 
Their names upon her altars ; ask'd no fate 
But that which you inherit and disdain 
To call it heritage — subdued the world, 
And with superior scorn heard its lip-service, 
And bade it call them Romans, and believe 
Earth had no haughtier name. Be not deceived. 
They stood on Roman, you on Parman ground. 
But yet this mould is the same giound they stood 

on. 
The evening wind, that passes by us now. 
To their proud senses was the evening wind. 
These are the hills, and these the plains, whereby 
The Roman shepherd fed his golden flocks, 
And kings look'd from their distant lands, and 

thought him 
Greater than they. The masters of the world 
Heard the same streams that speak to you, its 

slaves. 



THE ROMAN. 205 

These rocks were their rocks, and their Roman 

spring- 
Brought, year by year, the very self-same blossoms, 
(The self-same blossoms, but they stood for crowns.) 
The flowers beneath their feet had the same per- 
fume 
As those you tread on — do they scorn your tread ? 
They saw your stars ; and when the sun went 

down. 
The mountains on his face set the same signs 
To their eyes as to yours. O thou unseen 
Rome of their love, — immaculate and free ! 
Thou who didst sit amid the Apennines, 
And looking forth upon the conscious world. 
Which heard thee and obey'd, beheld thy children 
From sea to sea ! Yes, we are here, my mother. 
And here beside thy mountain throne we call thee 
Ascend, thou uncrown'd queen ! Yet a few days, 
Yet a few days, and all is past. Behold 
Even now, the harvest seedeth, and the ear 
Bends rich with death. Yet a few days, my mother. 
And thou shalt hear the shouting of the reapers. 
And we who sharp the sickle shall ring out 
The harvest-home. Nay, look not on me, mother, 
Look not on me in thy sublime despair ; 
Thou shalt be free 1 I see it all, my mother, 
Thy golden fetters, thy profaned limbs, 
Thy toils, thy stripes, thine agonies, thy scars. 
And thine undying beauty. Yes, all, all. 
And all for us and by us. Look not on me. 
Ay ! lift thy t-anker'd hands to heaven, earth hath 

not 
Room for so vast a wrong. Thou shalt be free, 
Thou shalt be free, before the heavens I swear it ! 
By thy long agony, thy bloody sweat. 
Thy passion of a thousand years, thy glory, 
Thy pride, thy shame, thy worlds subdued and 

lost, 
^hou shalt be free ! By thine eternal youth. 



206 THE KOMAN. 

And eoeternal utterless dishonour — 

Past, present, future, life and death, all oaths, 

Which may bind earth and heaven, mother, I 

swear it. 
We know we have dishonour'd thee. We know 
All thou canst tell the angels. At thy feet. 
The feet where kings have trembled, we confess. 
And weep ; and only bid thee live, my mother. 
To see how we can die. Thou shalt be free ! 
By all our sins, and all thy wrongs we swear it. 
We swear it, mother, by the thousand omens 
That heave this pregnant time. Tempests for 

whom 
The Alps lack wombs — quick earthquakes — hur- 
ricanes 
That moan and chafe, and thunder for the light, 
And must be native here. Hark, hark, the angel ! 
I see the birthday in the imminent skies ! 
Clouds break in fire. Earth yawns. The exulting 

thunder 
Shouts havoc to the whirlwinds. And men hear. 
Amid the terrors of consenting storms. 
Floods, rocking worlds, mad seas and rending 

mountains. 
Above the infinite clash, one long great cry. 
Thou shalt be free ! 

[ The audience have erne by one stolen away. The 
Monk, recovering from his enthusiasm, finds 
himself alone-l 

The Monk. Ah solitude ! and have I 

Raved to the winds ? [^4 pause. 

Bow not thy queenly head, 
Beat not thy breast ; they do not leave thee, 

mother ! 
We have no strength to meet the offended terrors 
Of thy chaste eyes. Yet a few days, my mother. 
And when the fire of expiation burns. 
Thou shalt confess thy children. Oh, bear with us. 



THE ROMAN. 207 

Hath the set sun forsaken thee V We know 
All that thou art, and we are : and if, mother. 
The unused weight of the ineffable knowledge 
Bendeth our souls, forgive us. [Another long pause. 

Yes, all gone ! 
And not one word — one pitiful cheap word — 
One look that might have brighten'd into promise ! 
All faint, pale, recreant, slavish, lost. No cur 
That snip's the distant bear, and sneaks downcast 
With craven tail and miscreant trepidation 
To kennel and to collar, could slink home 
With a more prone abasement. 

[Another long pause. 
Kill me ! kill r^e ! 
Thine hour is not yet come. Then give me mine ! 
Thou must endure, my mother, I have taken 
A meteor for the dawn. Thou must endure, 
And toil, and weep. 
Oh, thou offended majesty ! my heart 
Beats here for thee. Strike it ! Thou must en- 
dure. 
I may not, at the peril of my soul, 
Give thee aught other counsel ; and I would not 
For many souls that any man should dare 
To give thee this and live. Alas ! when truth 
Is treason, and the crime of what we do 
Transcends all sins but the more damning guilt 
Of doing aught beside. [Another pause. 

Or is it, mother, 
That thou hast chosen ill? That I, the dreamer, 
Catch not the language of these waking men ? 
With our humanity infirm upon us. 
My God ! it is a fearful thing to stand 
Alone, beneath the weight of a great cause 
And a propitious time ! [Another joause. 

Mother ! [.4 long pause. 
Be patient, 
O thou eternal and upbraiding Presence, 
Which fillcst heaven and earth with witness ; be 



208 THP: ROMAN. 

What thou hast been : and, if thou canst, forgive 

What I cannot forgive ; and let me be 

What I was. Take, take back this terrible sight ! 

This sight that passeth the sweet boundary 

Of man's allotted world. Let me look forth 

And see green fields, hills, trees, and soulless waters 

Give back my ignorance. Why should my sense 

Be cursed with this intolerable knowledge ? 

Let me go back to bondage. What am I, 

That I am tortured to supernal uses. 

Who have not died ; and see the sights of angels 

With mortal eyes? Uidiand me, mother ! why 

Must I, so many years removed from death. 

Be yoTing and have no youth ? What have I done 

That all thy millions look on thee with smiles, 

And I with madness ? Why must I be great ? 

AVhen did I ask this boon ? Why is the dull, 

Smooth, unctuous current of contented baseness 

Forbidden to me only ? What art thou, 

Magician ! that who serves thee hath thenceforth 

No part on earth beside ? That I am doom'd — 

Am doom'd to preach in unknown tongues, and 

know 
What no man will believe ? To strive, and weep, 
And labour with impossible griefs and woes, 
That kill me in the birth ? That 1 am thus. 
That I am thus, who once was calm, proud, happy, — 
Ay, you may smile, you ancient sorrows, — happy. 
Stay ! happy ? And a slave ? [A very long pause. 

If I must see thee, 
If it must be, if it must be, my mother ! ' 
If it must be, and God vouchsafes the heart 
No gift to unlearn truth ; if the soul never 
Can twice be virgin ; if the eye that strikes 
Upon the hidden path to the unseen 
Is henceforth for two worlds ; if the sad fruit 
Of knowledge dwells forever on the lip, 
And if thy foce once seen, to me, O thou 
Unutterable sadness ! must henceforth 



THE ROMAN. 209 

Look day and night from all things ; grant me this, 
That thine immortal sorrow will remember 
How little we can grieve who are but dust. 
Make me the servant, not the partner, mother, 
Of woes, for whose omnipotence of pain 
I have no organs. Suffer that I give 
Time and endurance for impossible passion ; 
Perchance accumulated pangs may teach me 
One throe of thy distress. How canst thou think 
My soul can contain thine ? 



SCENK II. 

Time andjilace as in Scenk I. 

Francesca, a young girl, one of the Auditors in Scene I. 
has remained hidden among the trees. The Monk, silent, 
musing. 

Francesca {musing). While he yet spake I waited 
for a pause. 
And now, if I could dare to hear my voice 
In this most awful silence, it should pray 
That he would speak again. You heavens, you 

heavens. 
Lend me your language. This progressive thought, 
This unit-bearing speech, whose best exertion 
Is but dexterity, the juggler's sleight, 
That with facility of motion cheats 
The eye, whose noblest effort can but haste 
The single ball of phantasy, and make 
Succession seem coincidence, is not 
For such an hour. Lend me some tongue, you 

heavens. 
Worthy of gods : in whose celestial sense 
The present, past, and future of the soul 
Sink down as one ; even as these dews to-night 
14 



210 THE KOMAxV. 

Fall from a thousand stars. 

He hears. Pie turns. 
Now, now, ye saints ! 

The Monk {turning and perceiving her). Lady, 
what wouldst thou '? [_She is silent. 

Child, 
What wouldst thou V 

Francesca. 1 have heard thee. Dost thou ask ? 
The Monk {pointing to the dancers in the far 
distance). Did they not hear? Daughter, 
persuade me this, 
And I will bless thee. 

Francesca (taking a fioioer from her breast). Is 
that rosebud sweet ? 
I pluck'd it from a thicket as I pass'd ; 
One day, perhaps, some cottage plot; but now 
Given up to dominance of vulgar thorns. 
And weeds of deadlier moral. Yet methinks 
'T is still a rose. Wilt thou receive it V 
The Monk. Aye. 

Francesca. I am that rose, my father, so accept 
Me. 

The Monk. Child, I will. 

Francesca. I have heard much to-night 

Of Roman deeds, of sages, and of heroes, 
Of sons who loved, and sons who have betray'd. 
Hath Rome no daughters to repeat her beauty, 
Renew the model of old time, and teach 
Her sons to love the mother in the child V 
Was Rome, my father, built and peopled by 
One sex V The very marble of your ruins 
Looks masculine. In heart I roam about them, 
But wheresoe'er my female soul peers in 
— Even to the temple courts — some bearded image 
Cries Privilege. Doth Salique law entail 
The heritage of glory ? Is there nothing, 
Nothing, my father, in the work of freedom 
For woman's hand to do ? 

The Monk. The past, that book 



THE KOMAX. 211 

Of demonstrated theorems, lies open. 

Why seek my poor unproved hypothesis, 

When God hath solved for thee V Child, choose 

thy page. 
Here bleeds Lucretia. Rome hath now ten Tarquins 
(Ten Tarquins, but we call them dukes and kings). 
There, Arria. Many a Foetus lives to-night 
Who would have given right joyfully to freedom 
The Roman heart that makes a sorry slave. 
If Arria would have shown him how to die. 
Virginia ! Appius — nay, we have no state 
Where Appius would have deign'd to be a despot. 
But that divine idea incarnate in 
Virginia's corse, and teeming in the blood 
Which quickening in your Roman ground grew up 
A national virginity — that glory. 
Though it reach up to heaven, may make its footstool 
Wherever there is earth enough to die on. 
Remember her who 

Francesca. Hear me yet, my father, 

And I will light thee to a sterner text 
Than thou hast heart to preach from. 

Yonder castle 
Darkening the hill 

The Monk. Child, the days come when where 
The deadhest stronghold of its lordliest keep 
Spreads the dank flags, tear-damp, of its most dark 
Detested dungeon, thou — not 1 — shalt see 
The wild thyme and the bee. 

Francesca. Is there nought writ 

Of Tullia, who once drove the car of blood 
Over her father's corse V Sir, from those walls 
My father rules. 

Tlie Alonk {after some silence). Shall Paul stop 
preaching lest 
Eutychus sleep V In the Damascene way 
Shall his ejes shut out light from heaven '? Not 

though 
It scorch them blind ! Truth is a god, my child ; 



•212 THE ROMAN. 

Rear thou the altar, he himself provides 

The lamb. The great judge, Truth, who takes thy 

verdict. 
Avenges a false finding though it save 
Thy brother's soul. Truth is the equal sun, 
Ripening no less the hemlock than the vine. 
Truth is the flash that turns aside no more 
For castle than for cot. Truth is a spear 
Thrown by the blind. Truth is a Nemesis 
Which leadeth her beloved by the hand 
Through all things ; giving him no task to break 
A bruised reed, but bidding him stand firm 
Though she crush worlds. 

Francesca. Master ! I would serve Truth. 

The Monk (meditates^ then speeds). Oh Free- 
dom ! ruddy goddess of the hill. 
Say, from that breezy ledge of genial rock, 
Where, yet ere twilight, with thine eastward face 
Turn'd to to-morrow's sunrise, thou hast laid 
Thy joyous limbs, dew-bathed — which day scarce 

tames 
To sleep — oh say, is this pale dreamer thine ? 
Go home, poor child, thou hast thy burden ; I 
Add nothing. 

Francesca. Thou canst speak in parables, 
Or with stern silence stifle the poor heart 
That breathes thy words ; but, father, I will sit 
Here at thy feet. 

The Monk. So does my dog ; but do I 
Take him to council ? 

Francesca. Yet thou givest him 

To watch thee day and night. Grant me no less. 

The Monk. Oh tyrant's daughter, lovest thou 
Roman thus ? 

Francesca. Aye. 

The Monk (musing'). Can the heart be less than 
what it holds ? 
The fetter'd slave that in his fetters slays 



THE ROMAN. 213 

His lord, has strength to break them. Arms that 

break 
Their chains have strength to throw them in the 

sea. 
Perchance I have judged ilk Yes. Unattaint, 
Perchance, the Arethusan blood of Rome 
Hath coursed the conduit of a tyrant's veins, 
And from the fetid entrails of the earth 
Springs up Diana's fountain ! 

Soul, soul, soul, 
Wilt thou again believe ? Are figs of thistles ? 
Hast thou not tasted of the Dead-Sea fruits ? 
The clouds are midnight with to-mon-ow's storm : 
Wilt thou launch freedom in a cockle-shell ? 
What ! Patriot, dost thou pay the gold of Rome 
For phantom ship to skim aerial waves 
Or desert mirage ? Bah ! what fah'oner 
Shall man this buttertly-hawk V Will that nice beak 
Stoop to a bloody lure '? 

Poor child, poor child, 
The feeblest tongue that freemen use will deafen 
These ears where every word went bowing in ! 
These pamper'd ears, born in the purple chamber 
Of silken state, these soft voluptuous ears, 
Dainty and fancy-fed, that of the tribe 
Of many-visaged language, know alone 
That bastard and emasculated speech 
That does court-embassies. That perfumed minion, 
Which runs the powder'd errands of intrigue ; 
That slave-born slave, that audible obeisance, 
Which on the silver plate of compliment 
Exchanges rotten hearts. That sleek thrice-curl'd 
Prim arbiter of vile proprieties. 
Whose wax-light days begin and end with fashion ; 
That velvet impotent, whose effete passions 
Wait smiling the fantastic lusts of kings. 
****** 

How shall she bear the sound when a strong land 
In the rude health of freedom shall say Rome ! 



214 THE ROMAN. 

Go home, girl, thou hast nought in me, nor I 
In thee. 

Francesca. Thy words stand 'twixt my home 

and me. 
The Monk. Hence ! Thou shalt pass them. Free- 
dom's sentinels 
Challenge no feathers. 

Francesca. I have heard thy fears, 

And fear not. Do the damn'd, my father, shrink 
At voice of angel ? Shall not the small sense 
Of feeblest child sustain the crash of doom ? 

The Monk. The day is thine. 
Xliere was a Greek sage once, who stood in spirit 
Sublime beside his outraged flesh and blood. 
The only calm beholder. He and thou. 
Raw girl ! have come into one heritage ; 
He in grey hairs, weary and wise, as sage ; 
Thou in the flush of unreflecting days, 
As woman. With bowed head I stand before 

thee, 
Child ! teach me. 

Francesca. Mock me not, oh father, mock 

Me not. Is it so great a boon to die ? 

The Monk. Hjive what thou wilt — do what thou 

wilt. 
Francesca (Jhrowing herself at his feel). He takes 
me ! 
You Heavens ! he takes me. Master, Teacher, 
Lord ! 
The Monk. I take thee not. 
Francesca. Thou canst not drive me from thee ! 
I see it all ! He would even crush the fly 
That hums about him. No, my father, no, 
I die not thus. 

The Monk. I take thee not, brave girl, 
Thy Country claims thee. That great Rome, for 

whom 
Many have/a^/en, but how few have died. 
That generous country, which, while other lands 



THE ROMAN. 215 

Build up their bulwarks of their children's dust, 
Of her best sons, in her worst need, asks only 
Apotheosis. Dost thou weep to exchange 
The mortal for the eternal ? 

France^ca. Teach me how 

To serve her. 

The Monk. Pay her tithes of the rich love 
That bore thee to her feet. That love which tri- 

umph'd 
In victory lik - his of Underwalden, 
Who buried in his own unconquer'd breast 
Th' opposing spears. 

Francesca. Father, 1 am a poor 

Weak ignorant. Thy voice falls on my heart 
Like heavenly music, but alas, I know not 
What words they sing to it in heaven. I pray thee 
Give eyes to this blind trouble in my soul, 
Set me some task — nay, do not spare me, master, 
Some task at which thy bravest is not brave — 
Teach me some lesson, in our woman's language, 
Of action and endurance ; I will say it, 
That thou shalt bless thv scholar! 

The Monk. ' Child ! child ! child ! 

Thou art yet young, and foot of babe can do 
No sacrilege. But curb these proud beliefs. 
There comes a time, when holy bounds o'er-stept 
May blast thee. Child, freedom hath sanctuaries, 
Wherein the chaste hands of her best high-priest 
Tremble to serve. Slave ! merry smiling slave ! 
Dancing an hour since to the shameful music 
Of thine own chains — 

Francesca. Oh father, father, spare me ! 

Make me her lowest servant — 

T/ie Monl-. Child, not so. 

How should I judge thee ? Enoch was the first, 
But not the last translated. To both worlds 
— The inner and the outer — we come naked. 
The very noblest heart on earth, hath oft 
No better lot than to deserve. And yet, 



216 THE ROMAN. 

What laurell'd impotent shall show his head 
Beside that uncrown'd giant ? 

No, my daughter, 
I think thou hast a place beside the throne. 
Behold it near the skies : the golden steps 
Of human toil that reach it, and the angels 
Ascending and descending. Wilt thou climb ? 

Francesca. Oh father ! 

The Monk. Let me breathe thee round the base 
Of the celestial steep. I have a task 
Such as becomes the neophyte of freedom ; 
It shall be thine. 

Francesca. I clasp thy knees, my father. 

The Monk. Brave girl, it is a Tvro's task ; a 
baptism 
That will not drown. The very holiday-work 
Of glory — 

Francesca. May I do no nobler ? 

The Monk. Hear it. 

Go forth at dawn — as they of old, go forth — 
Carry nor purse, nor scrip, nor shoes, salute 
By the way no man. Through this sad broad land, 
Even from the Alps to the three seas, cry out, 
" Home is at hand ! " 

Francesca. Father, no more? 

The Monk. No more. 

Francesca. No word of War, Glory, Shame, 
Tyrants V Nothing 
Of this Rome's feature V 

The Monk. Did John Baptist know 

Whom he foreran ? Daughter, thy chains lie there, 
Not two hours off. No law forbids thee wear them. 

Francesca. Forgive me, father, I am thine, all 
thine, 
But — nay, frown not — what if men tire of this 
Strange cuckoo note ? 

The Monk. Do two hearts hear the cuckoo 

With the same beat ? Lend me thy lute, dear girl ; 
There was a song that in my wanderings 



THK ROMAN. 217 

I heard In other years. A wayward song 
That caught the murmur oft'ie waterfall, 
By which I sang It. But no matter. 'T will 
Find Its way where the brawny words of manhood 
Might be too rude. I would, my poor disciple, 
I had some foot more fit than an arm'd heel 
To tread the dwelling of thy woman's soul. 
And while we commune, daughter, — for alas, 
A patriot militant has no to-morrows — 
Hear this first lesson. It may be remember'd 
When I am not. Stern duties need not speak 
Sternly. He Avho stood firm before the thunder, 
Worshipp'd the still small voice. Let the great 

world 
That beai'S us — the all-preaching world — instruct 

thee. 
That teacheth every man, because her precepts 
Are seen, not heard. Oh, worship her. Fear not 
Whilst thou hast open eyes, and ears for all 
The simplest words she saith. Deaf, blind, to these, 
Despair. That worst Incurable, perchance 
Some voice may heal hereafter, but none here. 
For before every man, the world of beauty. 
Like a great artist, standeth day and night. 
With patient hand retouching in the heart 
God's defaced Image. Reverence sights and sounds. 
Daughter; be sure the wind among the trees 
Is whispering wisdom. 

Now assist me. lute. 
\_T1ie jMoNK sings — reciiativo — iQuchliuj the lute at 
intervals. 
There went an InCense through the land one night, 
Through the hush'd holy land, when tired men slept. 

[Interlude of music. 
The haughty sun of June had walk'd, long days, 
Through the tall pastures which, like mendicants. 
Hung their sear heads and sued for rain : and he 
Had thrown them none. And now it was high hay- 
time. 



218 THE ROMAN. 

Through the sweet valley all her flowery wealth 
At once lay low, at once ambrosial blood 
Cried to the moonlight from a thousand fields. 
And through the land the incense went that night. 
Through the hush'd holy land when tired men slept. 
It fell upon the sage ; who with his lamp 
Put out the light of heaven. He felt it come 
Sweetening the musty tomes, like the fair shape 
Of that one blighted love, which from the past 
Steals oft among his mouldering thoughts of wisdom. 
And SHE came with it, borne on airs of youth ; 
Old days sang round her, old memorial days, 
She crown'd with tears, they dress'd in flowers, all 

faded — 
And the night-fragrance is a harmony 
All through the old man's soul. "Voices of eld, 
The home, the church upon the village green. 
Old thoughts that circle like the birds of Even 
Round the grey spire. Soft sweet regrets, like sunset 
Lighting old windows with gleams day had not. 
Ghosts of dead years, whispering old silent names 
Through grass-grown pathways, by halls mouldering 

now. 
Childhood — the fragrance of forgotten fields ; 
Manhood — the wnforgotten fields whose fragrance 
Pass'd like a breath ; the time of buttercups, 
The fluttering time of sweet forget-me-nots; 
The time of passion and the rose — the hay-time 
Of that last summer of hope ! The old man weeps, 
The old man weeps. 

His aimless hands the joyless books put by ; 
As one that dreams and fears to wake, the sage 
With vacant eye stifles the trembling taper, 
Lets in the moonlight — and for once is wise. 

[ Inierlude of music. 
There went an incense through the midnight land. 
Through the hush'd holy land where tired men slept. 
It f 41 upon a simple cottage child, 
Laid where the lattice open'd on the sky, 



THE KOMAN. 21 f) 

And she look'd up and said, Those flowers the stars 
Smelt sweet to-night. God rest her ignorance ! 
There went an incense thronjh the land one night, 
Through the hush'd holy land when tired men slept 
It pass'd above a lonely vale, and fell 
Upon a poet looking out for signs 
In heaven and earth, and went into his sonl, 
And like a fluttering bird among sweet strings, 
Made strange iEolian music wild and dim. 

{Interlude. 

A haggard man, silent beneath the stars. 
Stood with bare head, a hasty step withdrawn 
From a low tatter'd hut, wherefrora the faint 
Low wail of famine, like a strange night-bird. 
Cried on the air. He had come forth to give 
His dying child, his youngest one, repose. 
" Father," it said, " you weep, I cannot die." 
There went an incense through the land that night. 
Through the hush'd holy land when tired men slept ; 
It came upon his soul, and went down deep 
Deep to his heart, and threw the new-made hay 
Upon the coals of fire that ember'd there. 
And by the rising flame came pictures fair, 
Of old ancestral fields that strangers till, 
And patrimony that the spoiler reaps. 
Then falls the flame upon the pallet near. 
And forward or. the canvas of the night. 
To the wild father's eye, lights up that landscape 
Of love and health and hope which yesterday 
The poorest crumbs of the oppressor's feast 
Might buy. Oh God ! how coarse a crust may be 
The bread of life. He breathes the night-balm in. 
And breathes it back the red-hot smoke of ven- 
geance ! 

[Musicalinterlude. 

There was a lonely mother and one babe, 
— A moon with one small star in all her heaven — 
Too like the moon, the wan and weary moon, 
In pallor, beauty, all, alas ! but change. 



220 THE ROMAN. 

Through six long months of sighs that moon un- 

waning 
Had risen and set beside the little star. 
And now the little star, whom all the dews 
Of heaven refresh not, westers to its setting. 
Out of the moonlight to be dark for ever. 
O'er the hush'd holy land where tired men sleep, 
There went an incense through the night. It fell 
Upon the mother, and she slept — the babe, 
It smiled and dream'd of paradise. 

Thanks, listener. 
I am a sorry minstrel. Had my art 
Been echo to the nature in thy face 
We had heard nobler strains. 

Francoica (sadlt/). Alas ! there only 

Is thy child false. 

The Monk. Ah ! sighing still V 

Francesca. Dear father, 

One more forgiveness ! Spirits half cast out 
Tear the possess'd and cry. Indulgent master, 
Complete thy miracle. 

The Monk {fieverely). Hath the possess'd 
Faith to be healed ? 

Francesca. I could do all for love, 

Bleed, die for it, — even to the second death — 
I could, I would, I icill — but to give flesh 
For marble ; to be crush'd out of the earth 
By some cold image falling from the clouds ! 

The Monk. Woman, is this a place for earthly 
passion ? 

Francescn. Not passion, no, not passion. Hu- 
man light 
In the stern idol's eyes — a heart, a pulse 
To sanctify the embrace — the love that throbs 
Belief — Oh master, master! 

The Monk. I am patient. 

Strange priestess — how long are these mysteries V 

Francesca (pauses^ Sir, they are even now 
ended. I say not 



THE KOMAN. 221 

Whether the fire be out upon the altar, 

Or if the holy portals are self-closed 

Against nnpitying eyes ; but — they are ended. 

The Monk. Child, I have wrong'd thee. 

Francesca. Father, say not so. 

They are not wrong'd who have no rights. And 

what 
Have I before thee V 

The Monk. More, my daughter, more 

Than thou or I remembered. Do the stars 
Frown on us ? Yet that cloud of wayward wishes 
The world sent up at vesper-time hangs now 
Fevering the heaven between their eyes and ours. 
Daughter, forget my sins. Fond Hector, arm'd. 
Smiled a paternity too terrible 
Even for a hero's child. The earnest soul 
Drawing a sword is warrior cap-a-pied. 
And this voice, strife- strain'd, catches ill to-night 
The pitch of the confessional. Brave girl, 
Canst thou trust twice ? 

Francesca. Do I trust God the less 

For an unanswer'd prayer ? Command me, master ; 
'T was the Promethean madness that essay'd 
To warm a clay heart with celestial fire. 
I am content to serve. 

The Monk. Nay, tell me all. 

Francesca. Not so, my father. No, thou shalt 
not cross 
This threshold. No, thou shalt not stoop so low 
As to the lintel of a heart like mine ! 
Nay, tempt me not. I have received my sorrow, 
And am content. The sin was too delicious 
For feebler retribution. But, oh, once 
To bear what I have borne this hour suflficeth 
For one life. 

The Monk. Thou poor trembling child, be calm. 
Truth, partial to her sex, made woman free 
Even of her inmost cell ; but man walks round 
The outer courts, and by the auspices 



222 THE KOMAX. 

And divinations of the augur reason, 

Knows her chaste will, her voice, and habit better 

— With a sure science, more abstract and pure — 
Than ye who run by instinct to her knee. 
Answer me, child, perchance 

Francesca. Nay, father, nay, 

I am not worthy of thine auguries. 
I will confess. I fear'd — forgive me, father, 
I did fear that as there have been who flew 
Wild with their own inevitable shadow ; 
The dark monotony from day to day, 
Of words that had no image in ray brain, — 
Great everpresent names that stand for nothing 
In heaven or earth, sounds, awful, awful sounds, 
For shapes I cannot see, haunting my ears. 
Might drive me mad. Is not a whisper, father, 
Fearful at night ? Are there not some, ray father, 
Who have been dooni'd to drag a skeleton 
Rattling behind them ? Oh, you heavens, you 

heavens, 
1 shall go mad. 

2Vie Monk (^musingly). Ay, child, those rank 
weeds, words. 
Exhaust the soul. 

Francesca. A little love, dear master, 

It seem'd to me if I could know and love 

— Though afar off — this Rome of which thou 

speakest. 
It would make life of death. 

Tlie Monk. Yes, thou must love her, 

There must be fire from heaven or hell to burn 
Offerings that burnt were incense, but neglected 
Pollute the winds. Thou raust love Rorae, ray 

daughter, 
As she loves thee. 

Francesca. Oh, can she love me ? How, 

Oh, tell me how the mortal can win looks 
From the eternal ? How the daughters of men 
Drew angels down ? Alas, thou jestest, father, 



IHE ROMAN. 223 

81]e — the espoused of ages — how shall I 
Woo her ? 

The Monk. Even as thou makest other loves. 
Watch her and wait upon her ; let her share 
Thy morn and eve, and in the sleep of noon 
Dream of her. Have no shame to see her by 
Thy bed at night, and to undress thine heart 
In her sad gaze. 

In the dull ways of men 
Sitting and walking lonely, let her image 
Be thy attendant spirit, and interpret 
All things into her language. Haply passing 
A ruin'd garden, all of broken statues, 
Temples o'er-turn'd, sweet haunts of love and 

pleasance 
Defiled and trodden in the outraged earth. 
And blossoms like the noon for radiance, trampled 
By foul insidting feet : while over all 
The appealing music of wronged solitudes, 
Of shades detlower'd and sanctities profaned, 
Hangs like a dewy exhalation — then 
Look up and say, My country ! 

Wandering through 
The lovely ruin, if thy step should strike 
On some fair column ; prone and moss-interr'd, 
Fit for a god to stand on ; one of those 
That found amid a desert's sands alone. 
Should of the wealth of its one witness give 
Another tome to history — be reverent, 
Tread as thy feet were among graves — and say, 
My country ! 

Or, oh prince's daughter, if 
In some proud street, leaning 'twixt night and 

day 
From out thy palace balcony to meet 
The breeze — that templed by the hush of eve, 
Steals from the fields about a city's shows. 
And like a lost child, scared with wandering, flies 
From side to side in touching trust and terror, 



224 THE ROMAN. 

Crying sweet country names and dropping flow- 
ers — 
Leaning to meet that breeze, and looking down 
To the so silent city, if below 
With dress disorder'd and dishevell'd passions 
Streaming from desperate eyes that flash and flicker 
Like corpse-lights, (eyes that once were known on 

high, 
Morning and night, as welcome there as thine,) 
And brow of trodden snow, and form majestic 
That mioht have waik'd unchallenged through the 

skies. 
And reckless feet, fitful with wine and woe. 
And songs of revel that fall dead about 
Her ruin'd beauty — sadder than a wail — 
(As if the sweet maternal eve for pity 
Took out the joy, and, with a blush of twilight, 
Uncrown'd the Bacchanal) — some outraged sister 
Passeth, be patient, think upon ywn heaven. 
Where angels hail the Magdalen, look down 
Upon that life in death and say — My country ! 



SCENE III. 

The neighbourhood of Milan, durinc) a popidar EmeMte. 

A great band of Insurgents, armed, and singing, pass over. 
The Monk stands near. 

All {clianting as they march). Who would drone 
on in a dull world like this ? 

Heaven costs no more than a pang and a sigh ; 
Dash off the fetters that bind us from bliss. 

Fair fall the freeman who foremost shall die ! 
Death 's a siesta, lads, take it who can ! 
Wave the proud banners that wave for Milan ! 



THE KOMAN. 225 

Chanted in song, and remember'd in story, 
Sunk but to rise — like the sun in the wave — 

Grandly the fallen shall sleep in his glory, 
Proudly his country shall weep at his grave, 

And hallow like relics each clod where there ran 

The blood of that hero who died for Milan ! 

Holy his name shall be, blest by the brave and free, 

Kept like a saint's-day, the hour when he died ! 
The mother that bore him, the maid that bends 
o'er him 
Shall weep, but the tears shall be rich tears of 
pride. 
Shout, brothers, shout for the first falling man. 
Shout for the gallant that dies for Milan ! 

Long, long years hence by the home of his truth, 
His fate, beaming eyes yet unborn shall bedew, 

Beloved of the lovely, while beauty and youth 
Shall give their best sighs to the brave and the 
true ! 

On spears ! spur cavaliers ! Victory our van, 

Fame sounds the trumpet that sounds for Milan ! 

[ They 2}«ss ; the Mo>^k &te.ps forth, and stopping some of 
tlie reavijuard, speaks. 

The Monk. Would you know 

The path of that false tyrant, who enslaved 
Your fetter'd land : and, with her outraged beauties 
Beaming upon you, made ye glad to die ? 

Soldier. Ay, holy lather. 

The Monk. Would you know the spot 

Where, in the shoutings of his maniac triumph, 
He calls his blood-hounds round his gory hands, 
And cheers them on the prey ?. 

Soldier. Since the noon-sun 

Shone on the flying Austrians, we have track'd 

them. 
And burn to sup as we have dined. Speak on. 
15 



226 THE KOMAN. 

The Monk. If I could count you man by man, 
and horse 
By horse, and bayonet by bayonet, 
And point the very lurking place — 

Soldier. Nay, speak ! 

The sun sinks, and Milan herself goes down 
With to-night's dews. Speak, speak good father. 

The Monk. Fools ! 

What ! do you take me for some Austrian trull. 
At service of the first camp follower 
That sues her ? Do you think I make my council 
Of way-side danglers ? Dost betray me, fellow ? 
Thou pale-faced German knave, if thou art aught 
That man may name unblushing, hence and bring 

me 
The leaders of this ci-ew. 

One Soldier to another. Go fetch the captain 
Of the tenth troop. 

The Monk. Friend, fetch ten thousand captains. 
And march them here to march them back again ; 
What ! dost thou think Milan's great doom is meat 
For mouths like thine ? Hence, Ijring your general, 
And bid him — as he values absolution 
For all that army of unshriven souls 
That hope to make their beds in Paradise — 
Appear with such attendance as befits 
The majesty of freedom. Hence, and tell him 
I can show where Milan's great foe is flagrant. 
And swear upon my priestly faith, this night 
He shall behold him ! {_Exit a Soldier. 

Enter General and crowd of Troops. 

General. Sir, and reverend. father, 

Thou wilt forgive me if I am deceived — 
A straggler of our army brought — but now — 
An imminent commandment. Was it thine ? 

The Monk. Mine. 

General. We do trust thou hast not wrong'd us, 
father ; 



THE ROMAN. 227 

Each passing moment that goes by us now 
Is full of Uves. 

The Monk. I have not wrong'd you. Hear me. 
You say you combat for your country — mine, 
Yours, every man's in whom the proud high blood 
Of the old time still struggles with the present, 
And throbs and blushes at degenerate days ; 
The country of the Caesars, and the saints, 
And, better still, the land of stirring deeds. 
Done by rude hands, and heads as yet uncrown'd 
In earth or heaven ; the lady of the kingdoms — 
The soil on which the gods came down, confounding 
Their heaven with ours ; — restore me if I wander 
From your own words — you strike for this dear 
country ? ' 

All. Die for it! 

The Monk. And the tide that flow'd from those 
Old Roman veins like empire, so that where 
The Roman bled he ruled — the blood that soak'd 
His sovereignty into the land he fell on. 
Flows in you, and you feel it ? 

Geyieral. Reverend father. 

Times hastes — the news — thine oath — we must 
hence — 

The Monk. Peace ! 

Wilt thou direct my gifts, rebellious child ? 

[ Turning io the Crowd. 
Say, will you hear me ? Will you know the spot 
Where the toe lurks I swore to show you ? 

All. Speak ! 

The Monk. You feel the pulses of the Roman 
blood. 
You think the masters of the world begot 
Kings, and not slaves — you come forth with the 

same 
Looks, passions, sinews, souls and giant hearts, 
Which in your sires stood round your ancient 

heroes, 
And lifted them to glorv on their shields, 



228 THE ROMAN. 

— Those heroes worshipp'd by the startled earth, 
Who seenig them above you, call'd them gods — 
You know the same grand instinct of vast empire, 
You stand upon the same Italian ground. 
You stand on that same ground, the same proud 

people, 
And the inheritors of ancient worlds, 
Shout for Milan ! What ! will you pay your lives 
To buy a freedom girt by fewer acres 
Than your old consuls would have thrown away 
Upon a birth-day gift ? What, has this land, 
This Italy, grown smaller, and lacks ground 
For such a temple as it once upbore V 
Or in your base hearts, shrunk Avith shameful days, 
Is there no space to build a Roman glory ? 
Go to ! you feebler sons of feeble days, 
You that would totter with the very name 
By which men call'd your sires ! Go to, you pig- 
mies, 
Who have no more resource in your dwarf nerves, 
To know the squalor of your futile limbs, 
Than you have sight or soul or sense to compass 
The awful stature of a Roman people ! 
Why do I speak of glory ? Italy, 
This Italy, which in its length and breadth 
Scarce served your fathers for a throne to sit on, 
Confounds their children with its vast horizon ! 
And the posterity of those who counted 
Conquests by continents, weigh'd out dominion 
By hemispheres, and cast a score of kingdoms 
As dust to balance the unequal scale. 
Wage comfit combats at a carnival ! 
Coin fatherlands and farthings ; and step out 
Their mimic royalties, and make toy princes 
Glorious in gilt and gingerbread for kings 
At school to play with. Husbandmen in crowns, 
Great in the lordship of a Roman field. 
Affect the despot, and to trembling townships 
Nod sovereignty ; with equal hand create . 



THE KOMAN. 229 

A constitution, counti-v, and court-cook, 
Will loyalties, and point Avltli awful finger 
Which hedge and ditch shall bound a patriotism ! 
While Romans smile, and sons of Cassar farm 
Well pleased what Ca?sar would have deem'd too 

strait 
To breed his wild boars for a hunting day. 
And call it Empire ! 

Enter fresh crowds of Soldiers slwutinfj. 
Soldiers. Long live the republic ! 

Long live the commonwealth of Lombardy ! 

The Monk. Long live eternal Rome ! long live 
that Rome 
Which is not dead but sleepeth ! long live Rome ! 
Men, this is the great year of resurrection ! 
All who are in their graves shall hear his voice. 
And come forth ! That which twenty centuries 

hence 
Lay down a hero, shall rise up a god I 
Shout, countrymen ! and wake the graves ; shout, 

Rome ! 
Republic ! Rise ! 

Many voices. Down with him, down with him. 

Viva Milano ! 
General. A hearing, comrades ! 
Many. Peace ! the General speaks ! 

General Priest, at thy peril 

Many. At thy peril, priest ! 

General. Priest, at thy peril, cease these time- 
less babblings, 
Respect thine oath and life. Show us the foe ! 

Soldiers. The foe, the foe, the foe, 

The Monk. Each silent man, 

When I cry Rome ! Each false, base-blooded 

shouter. 
When you cry Lombardy ! 

Soldiers. Base-blooded ! false ! 

Base-blooded ! false ! give him a ball in the mouth ! 
Milan ! Milan ! up muskets ! 



280 THE KOMAN. 

General. Shoulder arms ! 

The Monk. Each self-judged helot, pleased to 
toil, a Goth, 
When he might rule, a Roman ! Rome ? Rome ? 

Rome ? 
Bah ! by what witchcraft should you know that 

name. 
You Tuscans, Luccans, Florentines, Sardinians, 
Parmans, Placentians, Paduans and — slaves ? 

Soldiers. Spear him — a pike, a pike ! 

Some. Hear the priest ! 

Others {ivith great uproar). Stone him, 

Stone him 

The Monk. I am a Roman. Let some Vandal 
Cast the first stone. 



SCENE IV. 
Moonlkjht. 



Fkancesca alone, musing, sitting on a bank beneath trees. 
Cecco, a friend, enters unperceived, at the close of her 
soliloquy. 

Francesca. I will but live in twilight, 

I will seek out some lone Egerian grove, 
Where sacred and o'er-greeting branches shed 
Perpetual eve, and all the cheated hours 
Sing vespers. And beside a sullen stream, 
Ice-cold at noon, my shadowy self shall sit, 
Crown'd with dull wreaths of middle-tinted flowers ; 
With sympathetic roses, wan with weeping 
For April sorrows ; frighten'd harebells, pale 
With thunder ; last, half-scented honeysuckle, 
That like an ill-starr'd child hides its brown head 
Through the long summer banquet, but steals late 
To wander through the fragments of the feast. 



THE ROMAN. '231 

And glad us with remember'd words that fell 
From rruests of beauty ; sunburnt lilies, grey 
Wind-whispering ilex, and whatever leaves 
And changeling blossoms Flora, half-asleep, 
Makes paler than the sun and warmer than the 

moon ! 
Was ever slave so dark and cold as I ? 
Ah cruel, cruel night ! the very stars 
Put me to shame ! I spur my soul all day 
With thought of tyrants, woes and chains, and curse 
As oft my pallid and ill-blooded nature. 
That will not rage. Oh for some separate slave 
To pity every vassal by ! Some tyrant 
By whom I might set down of all oppressors 
That they are thus and thus ! Oh that some hand, 
Oh that some one hand, faint and fetter-wrung, 
Would thrust its clanking wrongs before my eyes, 
And I could bleed to break them ! 

And thou ! country ! 
Thou stern and awful god, of which my reason 
Preaches infallibly, but which no sense 
Bears witness to — I would thou hadst a shape. 
It might be dwarf, deform'd, maim'd, — anything, 
So it was thine ; and it should stand to me 
For beauty. And my soul should wait on it, 
And I would train my fancies all about it. 
Till growing to its fashion, and most nurtured 
With smiles and tears they strengthened into love. 
But — Santo — this indefinite dim presence 
I cannot worship. O thou dear apostle, 
Oh what a patriot could Francesca be 
If ilwu wert Rome ! Oh what a fond disciple 
Should his tongue have whose only eloquence 
Was praise of thee ! To what a pile of vengeance 
One look of retribution in thine eye 
Were torch enougli ! Be still, my heart, be still ! 
Ah wilful, wilful heart, dost thou refuse ? 
Nay, be appeased — I bid thee silence, lest 
Consenting cheeks attest how well thou sayest I 



232 THE kOMAN. 

Too late, too late. Nay, do you crave, you blushes, 
Escort of spoken passion, to interpret 
Your beauties to the moon, which, pale with love 
And watching for the never-coming night, 
Mistakes them for some rosy cloud of dawn, 
And ends her vigil ? Heart, have all thy will ! 
Santo, I love thee ! love thee ! love thee ! love thee ! 
Santo, I love thee ! oh, thou wild word love ! 
Thou bird broke loose ! I could say on and on. 
And feel existence but to speak and hear. 
Santo, I love thee ! Hear ! Francesca loves thee, 
Santo, I love thee ! oh, my heart, my heart, 
My heart, thou Arab mad with desert-thirst, 
In sight of water ! — think upon the sands, 
Thou leaping trembling lunatic, and keep 
Some strength to reach the well. 

Cecco (approaching). What voice is this, 

That calls upon a traitor ? 

Francesca. Thou base stranger, 

Thou coward spy ! one that will call on him, 
Though her tongue pay the forfeit ! Yes, vile 

Austrian, 
I call him, I, — T, who to save my soul 
AVould scorn to call upon the milk-eyed saints 
That look from Heaven upon your German deeds 
And do not blight you ! 

Cecco (draioing nearer). Sister Roman ! well 
And timely met. 

Francesca. Cecco ! thy lips are traitors, 

And mouth to German fashions. I believed 
The hour I sometime pray'd for, come already, 
And thee an Austrian spy. 

Cecco. Forgive me that 

I show'd my passport at a friendly gate. 
Despair is a poor courtier. I may waste 
Only so many words as may demand 
Assistance, if thou hast it, and if not 
God-speed ! It wants but three short hours of dawn, 



THE ItOMAN. 233 

I swore to Santo he should have a Bible 
Two hours before his time. 

Francesca. It wants three hours 

Of dawn — thou sworest he should have a Bible 
Two hours before his time — Ceceo — 

Cecco. Be brief, 

For pity. Is there any bold man near 
Who has and who dare lend ? 

Francesca. Be brief, for pity — 

Thou swoi-est he should have — you heavens, you 

heavens, 
What do your clouds hide ? 

Cecco. I must leave thee. 

Fkancesca {to Cecco who essays to cjo: she shows a 
poniard). 

Cecco, 
Tell me ; tell all. Ah Cecco — nay, look here 
In the moonlight — saints ! I can use it ! 

Cecco. Strange, 

Wild girl, how ? know'st thou not as Avell as I 
Vittorio preaching to some Milanese 
Who would be patriots if they knew but how. 
Spent precious hours in which the German foe 
Slipt from the snare ? whereat brave Roderigo — 
A gallant sword — the greatest libertine 
In Milan — seized him. In the castle dungeon 
He lies since noon, and with the coming dawn 
Dies. 

Francesca. Dies, dies, — who dies ? — pray you, 
friend, say on ; 
I am not wont to wander. 

\She sinks (jently to the earth. Cecco reclines her on a 

banlc and hastens on. After awhile Francesca sits up. 

This is well ! 

That last waltz spent me. Let me see, what gallant 

Danced young Francesca down ? Nay, he '11 boast 

rarely ! 
Yet it seems, long ago — long, long ago. 
Such dreamless sleep ! Thou melancholy moon. 
What ! have I caught my death-damp of the dews V 



234 THE ItOMAN. 

Death, — death, — ah ! — 

[A long pause ; she sits with her head in her hands. 
A gallant sword — the greatest libertine 
In Milan ? — yes, yes, — Roderigo, — yes — 

{Another long pause. 
He lies since noon — ay, in the castle dungeon, 
And with the dawn — No, no, thou pitiless sun ! 
Thou durst not rise ! Oh sea, if thou hast waves, 
Quench him ! [Another long pause. 

A gallant sword — the greatest libertine 
In Milan. — Ah — the greatest hbertine ? 
Who says I am not fair ? Ye gods ! I curse you : 
Why do ye tempt me ? 

[.4 vei^y long jHiuse. Ckcco passes in returning. 
It is over, Cecco ; 
Cecco, I tell thee it is past, is past. 
Santo is free. Look thou that horses wait 
Near the east gate by sunrise. At the walls 
My mission ends. Doubt not. I am not mad, 
I hope I am not. Yet one hour of frenzy 
Would take me from this hell to heaven. But Cecco, 
I would not buy oblivion, at this moment. 
With a right hand that shakes. 

I tell thee, haste ! 
Gaze not on me ! with all the fiends about me, 
I have not sat an hour stock-still for nought ; 
Begone ! {_Exit Cecco. 



SCENE V. 

The Common Room of an Inn. 

Enter, by dijferent d(wrs, a. number of Students and Burghers, 
shouting to each other as they meet and greet. 

Each and oil. The news ? The news ? The 

news V The news ? The news ? 
One. I 've a good tale. 
Another. I better. 



THE ROMAN. 235 

Another. I the best. 

Another. Mine caps superlative. 

Another. Hurrah ! and mine 's 

A feather in the cap. 

Another. Boys ! mine 's the biwi 

That grew the feather. 

The first. Hear me for my age. 

The second. Me for my honesty. 

The third. Me for my beauty ! 

The fourth. Me for my wit. 

The fifth. Me for my eloquence. 

The sixth. Me 

For all these. 

Another. Me for none of them, since naked 
Beggars are best arm'd. 
■ Enter Giacco. Halloo ! 

AIL Giacco ! Giacco ! 

Brave Giacco ! 

Giacco. Here 's a tale, my comrades ! 

All. Hear him ! 

One. Hurrah ! trust Giacco for a pretty wench 
And a good story. 

Another. Nay, for certain, Milan 

Has no such tell-tale. 

Another. Lads ! a cup all round, 

Giacco does best ! 

One (aside). Pray ^^ary ! he knows mine ; 
Every good saint ! it mu^t be mine. 

Some. Now Giacco ! 

Others. Attend ! attend ! attend ! 

Others. Silence ! Now Giacco ! 

Giacco. There came a man — 

One. Aye, ' t is so. 

Another. Very true — 

So I say. 

Another. Hear him ! 

Another. Aye, aye, go on, Giacco ! 

Giacco. There came a man dress'd like a priest — 

One. The same. 



236 THE KOMAN. 

Another. Yes, 't was a priest. 

Another. Said I not well '? ah, ah ! 

Trust Giacco for a tale. 

Giacco. A thin pale man — 

One, A pale thin man. 

Another. Yes, pale and spare, I say so. 

Another. Spare, very spare. 

Another. The same ! the dogs snarl'd 

at him 
As he were bones. 

Giacco. He pass'd down Duomo Street — 

One. The very street ! 

Another. Y'es, yes, the place, the place, 

The very place — all but the name — good Giacco ! 

Another. Giacco forgets a little — Yes, yes, Gi- 
acco — 
{Aside). My life on it, he means the place I say ! 

Giacco. Walking down slowly — 

One. Yes, yes, walking slowly. 

Another. Right, Giacco ! 

Another. Well done, Giacco. 

Another. Aye, I say so; 

Oh, ' t is mv story ! 

Giacco. Walking down he enters 

A merchant 's office hard upon the quay — 

One. Wrong, Giacco ! 



Another. 




Giacco, thou'rt beside thyself! 


Another. 


Blind G 


iacco ! 


Another. 




Saints and angels ! 


Giacco. 




Why I saw him — 


Another. 


Giacco, 


thou liest ! 


Another. 




Turn him out ! 


Another. 




Nay ! 't is flagrant ! 


All. Turn him out ! 




Enter a 


Villafie-Sciioolmaster. 


Doctor Sc 


■io. Men ! 


Some. 




Room for the Doctor Scio ! * 



* The reader need not be reminded that Scio is but one sylla- 
ble in Italian. 



THE ROMAN. 237 

Others. Chair for the master, there ! 

Others. Hats off ! the Doctor ! 

All. Room for the Doctor ! Let the Doctor judge ! 
Take hiai aside, Giovanni. Tell him all ! 
Tell him, Giovanni ! 

Scio {pompousl})). Children agapete ! 
Well-beloved children ! trouble not Giovanni ! 
For as of old the mild mellifluous beams 
Of Cytherea on the Prince of Troy 
Stole through the broken pane, — as to Endymion, 
Through the cmck'd casement of consenting cave, 
The star-train'd goddess came ; so from these wide 
And voraitorial windows, belch'd your tumult 
To me transgressing. 

Some. Hear him ! 

Others. Well done, Scio ! 

Hear him ! 

One. Oh learning ! what a treasure thou art ! 

Others. Hurrah ! Speak, Doctor, speak ! 

Scio. The labourer 

Is worthy of his hire. Friends, what is hire ? 

All. Wages ! 

Scio. And when. Sirs, does the fatigate 

Pellosseous, son of sudorific toil, 
Receive his wage ? Is it not, friends, the eve, 
The sweet stipcndiar eve of Saturn's day ? 

Burghers (to each other^. Didst hear the like? 
What 't is to be a scholar ! 
Scio has my boy — for one. 

Scio. And shall we, friends, 

Shall we degrade the majesty of Learning 
Which I — which I — her infinitesimal 
Exiguous representative — 

Some. Bravo, 

Well said ! 

Scio. Which I — her representative 

Exiguous but unworthy — 

So7ne. No, no, Scio, 

No, not unworthy. 



238 THE KOMAN. 

Others. Don't be modest, Scio ; 

Unworthy ! bah ! — 

Others. Give us the other words — 

Go on, Scio, " infinite " — 

Scio. I say, my friends, 

Shall I, the representative of Learning, 
Work first and be paid after, like the plodder 
In yonder field ? My friends, there was a thing, 
A tool, an article, friends, a utensil 
Known to our fathers by the sacred names 
Poculum, cantharus, carchesium, scyphus, 
Cymbium, culullus, cyathus, amystis, 
Scaphium, batiola, and now by us 
Their children. Sirs, albeit unworthy, call'd 
A cup. 

AIL A cup, a cup, a cup of wine ! 
Well done, old Scio ! hurrah ! a cup of wine 
Here for the Doctor, oh ! a cup of wine. 

Enter a Stranger, who stands aside. A Burgher botes 
to him and speaks. 

Burgher (to Sti'anger). A stranger? 

Stranger. Yes. 

Burgher. You come in a good time, Sir ; 

Sir, you 're a happy man, I give you joy. Sir ; 
Sir, these are times ! — I take it, Sir, few men 
Can gainsay that, Sir, — these are times, Sir, eh ? 

Stranger. Sir, these are times. 

Burgher (pointing to Scio). You take me, Sir, I 
see. 
Now, Sir, behold that man. I say, Sir, mark him ; 
Now, Sir, you see a man, a man, Sir. 

Stranger. Sir, 

I see a man. 

Burgher. Just my idea. Sir, — Sir, 
I crave your further knowledge, we are friends — 
Saints ! how a patriot's eye — between ourselves — 

Sir, 
A patriot's eye finds out the man of the age. 

Stranger. There is a nameless something — 



THK ROMAN. 239 

Burgher. Sir, you have it ; 

My own idea, Sir, from a boy — a something 
Indisputably something. Yes, a something 
As one might say — to speak more plainly — some- 
thing, 
A something, Sir, — something in the set of the 
ear — 

Many shout. Scio — Doctor Scio — Silence ! 
The Doctor ! Silence ! 

Enter Lelto, a Student. 

Lelio. Here 's news, friends ! 

Many. How now, Lelio ? 

Lelio. Which man here 

Tells the best tale V 

Many. I. I. I. I. I. I. 

Lelio. Nay, everybody ! Write me up a nonsuch ! 
I can beat everybody. Heroes can 
No more. 

All. A challenge, lads ; what ho ! a ring, 
A ring, a ring, a ring ! Champion, step out ! 
A ring ! a ring ! 

A Student. Go call thy daughter, hostess. 

Here 's that will make her honest. 

Llostesfi. Sir ? 

Student. A ring. 

All. Now, Lelio, now, each man that beats thee 
wins 
His bottle. 

Lelio. Done. You know the fair Francesca, 

Count Grassi's daughter ? 

AH. Are we Milanese ? 

Lelio. Well — 

One. Well ? 

Another. Well ! Nay, if she 's well, Lelio, 

'T is no such story ! 

Lelio. Which man has not seen 

Young Roderigo Rossi ? 

All. Or the sun, 

The moon — a star or two — the Duomo — well ? 



240 THE KOMAN. 

Lelio. Young Rossi and a priest fell out last 
night. 

Several. A priest — a priest — a priest — 

One. My life upon it 

The fellow knows my story. 

Lelio. On this quarrel, 

Our gallant Cavaliero dooms his man 
To die at day-break. 

Many. By the holy pope, 

A foul deed — nay, a foul deed. 

One (aside). Ne'ertheless, 

By Heavens I 'm glad on 't. This is not my story. 
My priest was a true patriot. 

Lelio. At midnight — 

(Count Grassi's child hath a fair face) 

Several. At midnight, 

Count Grassi's child hath a fair face ! Fie, Lelio ; 
Why what a traitor art thou ! 

Lelio. Attend, I say ! 

Bold Rossi's lewdness is a proverb — 

Several (pour badiner). Hold, 

Lelio, for pity — there are bachelors here — 
We are not all companions in misfortune ! 
For pity, Lelio ! 

Lelio. You that shout for pity. 

If you be Pity's followers, do her now 
Y^our best allegiance. Good friends, I, her quaestor, 
Claim tribute from you. A few tears will pay it. 
Listen. The young Francesca, at the price 
Of her ftiir body, bought the captive's life ; 
The priest is free. Do not cry out. Young Rossi 
Craved instant payment. She in her superb 
High loveliness, whose every look enhanced 
The ransom, sent him from her, glad to grant 
Another maiden hour for prayer and tears. 
Francesca wore a poniard. She is now ,_ 

A maid for ever. :.^^G 

Hostess (to one standing by). How is that, Sir? 

Student (aside). Hush ! 

Dead ! 



THE ROMAN. 241 

Several. 'T is a woful story. Poor Francesca! 

Scio. Requiem geternam dona eis Domine ! 

Several. Amen. Amen. 

Hostess (aside). Dead ! 't is against ray- 

conscience ; 
Dead ! and the Signor Rossi ! why a comelier 
Walks not Milan. Dead — nay. I couldn't have 

done it ! 
Well, well, there be hard hearts that slight their 

blessings. 
So comely a young man ! The saints preserve 

me ! 
Nay, 't was a sinful blindness. 

Lelio. How now, hostess. 

Some wine, some wine ; wine, wine. 

Several. More wine ; now, Lelio, 

Who was this monk '? — 

Lelio. Fill up your glasses, comrades, 

Sorrow is thirsty fellowship — eh, hostess ? 

Several. Lelio — now, Lelio — name, name, 
name ! 

Others. This priest. 

This lady-kiiling priest ! 

Lelio {to one). Hast thou forgotten 

A dance with Ginevra at eve ? A priest — 

One. The same ? 

Lelio. The same. 

One. Vittorio Santo ? speak ! 

Another. Santo ! 

Another. Vittorio Santo ? 

Lelio. What! Vincenzo 

Barnaba ! Ah Tomaseo ! are ye also 
Of Nazareth ? Well done ! tell you my story. 

Many. Lelio — hear Lelio — 

Others. Hear ! 

Lelio. It was this Santo. 

Dost thou mind, Giacehimo, how, deftly feigning 
Sorrows about a grave, he won our ears 
16 



242 THE ROMAN. 

And prick'd us on to virtue with the sword 

Of our own sympathies? With such shrewd 

warfare — 
Proteus for transformation — Briareus 
For head and hands — this strange campaigner 

carries 
The fire and sword of his hot argument 
From cot to palace, plain to mountain-top. 
The merchant at his ledger, lifting eyes 
Bloodshot with lack of sleep — for last night 

blew — 
Sees him beside his desk at close of day, 
And thinks the lamp burns dimmer, and believes 
The untold loss already. The pale priest. 
Opening his silent lips with such an omen 
That the faint listener starts, relates how some 
Great galleon, gallant on her homeward way — 
A floating Ind, mann'd by the pride of Europe — 
Storm'd by a scallop fleet of naked pirates, 
Bestrews their savage shores, and makes each rock 
Arabia. With keen eyes catching the throes 
Of his now gasping auditor, the tale 
Our stern tormentor fashions so astutely. 
That each new fear, enduing, strains it to 
Its several shape. Watching each rising hope, 
He stings it mad with some especial horror, 
And by a track of anguish feels his way 
Straight to his victim's heart. In that Avorst mo- 
ment 
The messenger of doom assumes the angel ! 
Looks that evangelise, eyes that beam light 
Into the soul, 'till every dead hope glitters 
Like a crown'd corpse ; a moment's shining silence, 
Slow placid words that hurry to a torrent; 
Then the gulf-stream of passion ! high command, 
Entreaty, reason, adjuration ; — all 
The martial attitudes of a grand soul. 
The lavish wealth of infinite resource ! 
Diamonds thrown broad-cast for denaros ! — aye, 



THE ROMAN. 243 

That Argosy he spoke of, scatter'cl on 

The maddest waves of rushing rapid, surging 

Headlong through foaming straits, above, below, 

Tossing the wealth of kingdoms, hurtles not 

With such tumultuous riches as the flood 

Of his strange eloquence. And then the scared 

And half-drown'd trader — lifting his blind thought 

Above the waters, that with sudden ebb 

Left him in silence — finds he is alone. 

Of all the golden wreck, his struggling soul 

Holds fast but this — Rome is that glorious galleon, 

Now stranded and forlorn : her freight of honours 

Strew'd up and down the world, purpling strange 

snows 
And loading cold barbaric winds with incense. 
That night, at home, the merchant tells his story, 
Wherewith, still later, madam at her glass 
Stirs sleepy Abigail. Sweet Abigail, 
Still nearer midnight, garrulously coy, 
'Twixt amorous Corydon and her warm charms, 
Weaves the gauze meshes of the thrice-told tale. 
Next morn on "Change betimes the story stalks 
By blind deaf faces, as a spirit might walk 
Among the wooden gods of the sea-kings. 
The hour of contract over, — the fierce edge 
Of morning appetite now turn'd with gold — 
Nature appeased, and the commercial soul 
In jolly after-dinner complaisance 
Relax'd and smiling, — prosperous ears attend 
The merchant never weary of recounting. 
" Insured, Sir ? " " 1 fear not." " Heyday, heyday, 
A sorry venture ! " Then the angry hum 
Subsiding, all surround the man of facts. 
Sage heads shook much that day. Municipal 
Grave brains plagued with strange phantoms, never 

yet 
Free of the city, in the sacred gloom 
Of shades official, ached, and retched, and heaved, 
To throw the incivic innovation oti": 



244 THE ROMAN. 

And in the pangs of labour crying out, 

Betrayed the parentage. So this strange priest : 

Made his foes preach for him, till all Leghorn 

Hung on his lips. With bold incessant presence 

Whereto no shrine is sacred, no stern fastness 

Strong, no offended majesty majestic. 

No sinner excommunicate, no saint 

Holy, no Dives rich, no Lazarus poor, 

No human heart unworthy — this strange man — 

This cowl'd evangelist, that Monk is not — 

(For he preach'd yesterday that not a bare 

Untempled spot, unblest, unconsecrate 

On earth, but is sufficient sanctuary 

For the best hour of the best life ; — no cloud 

In any heaven so dark that a good prayer 

Cannot ascend,) — this polyglot of prophets. 

Roams like a manifold infection, shedding 

Through the sick souls of men the strange disease 

Of his own spirit. Not an art or calling 

Wherein men work'd in peace, but at his touch 

Spreads the indefinite sorrow. In the field 

Halting the team of early husbandman. 

He chides him for the German weeds that choke 

The Roman crop of glory ; bids him seek 

The plough of Cincinnatus, and bring forth 

Into the sunshine of the age, that soil, 

That old heroic soil whence patriots spring ! 

Hard by the wondering swain, sequester'd close 

By summer elms and vines, the village forge 

From cheerful anvil all the long day rings ; 

The chimes of labour. Thence at winter night 

Shines to the distant villager the star 

Of home ; to which the homeless wayfarer, 

Trudging with fainting steps the storm-vex'd moor, 

Turns hopeless eyes, as to the vestal fire 

Of sweet impossible peace. Thereby the priest 

Pausing, the sturdy smith suspends his stroke 

Before the reverend stranger ; who accepts 

The homage with such liquidating grace 



THE ROMAN. 245 

That the stunn'd peasant, unabsolved of duty, 
Renews obeisance. Then the pale intruder 
Striding some stool, with hand upon the bellows, 
Moves the slack fire, and bids the work go on : 
Cursing the slave who stoops for prince or priest 
The dignity of toil. To the rough music 
Setting strong words, he sends with easy skill 
Wrongs, hopes, and duties trooping through the 

soul 
Of the stout smith, and there on his own smithy 
Blows the rough iron of his heart red-hot. 
Seizing the magic time, with sudden hand 
He stamps him to the quick ; — " Patriot ! the hour 
Is come to beat our ploughshares into swords, 
Our pruning hooks to spears ! " The brand driven 

home. 
The apostle vanishes, lest weaker words 
Efface the sign. 

A Student. Lelio ! dost thou remember — 

Lelio. I know thy thought, — the shopman of 
the vale — 

Student. Nay, Lelio — 

Lelio. Now I have it — the stout Tuscan, 

With wain o'erloaded — 

Student. Not he — 

Lelio. Ah ! the maid 

Who sang in German — 

Student. No — 

Lelio. Stay ! she who wore 

The cameo victory — 

Student. Now hear me, Lelio. 

When he saw — 

Ljelio. What ! when meeting country boys 

With laurel and acanthus — 

Student. No ! the saints ! 

Lelio. True, true, the tale of the parch'd field 
beside 
The aqueduct — 

Student. Wrong ! Holy Mary ! 



246 THE ROMAN. 

Lelio. Well — 

Student. Peace, I say, Lelio ! 

Lelio. Sometime hence, dear friend ; 

1 am not weary. 'T was of the round tower 
Of Vesta, whence the epicurean Time, 
Fresh from the feasts of Rome, took but the heart,' 
And all is there but the celestial flame A 

That consecrated all — ' 

Student. Have thine own way, 

But were I Lelio — 

Lelio. Tut, I know thy story. 

'T was of the eve when, meeting by the way 
An ancient pedagoojue, whose thin, time-worn. 
And reverend features (whereabout grey locks 
Hung lank as weeds), great names went in and out, 
Mournfully populous, like olden heroes 
Haunting some Roman ruin ; our fierce patriot — 
Say I not well ? 

Student. Hast thou in truth forgotten 

The village priest ? 

Lelio. The priest ? our priest says little 

To alb and stole — whether from shrewd self- 
knowledge, 
Or feeling that all tyrants are familiars, 
And that those proud pr^torians who subverted 
The commonwealth of God would lord it over 
An earthly heritage — therefore, good comrade, 
Owe us thy tale. 

Student. One day — 

Lelio. One moment first, 

(" One day " can spare it). I shall ne'er forget, 
When falling in upon a lone wild road 
With a fat monk, our patriot, for sheer lack 
Of occupation, challenges a war 
Of words. Good saints ! a firework by a fountain ! 
A schoolboy's freak played out with cannon balls 
And rotten apples ! As our Santo's lightnings 
Through the thick haze of t'other's sanctity 



THE ROMAN. 247 

Singed brow and beard, heavens ! how the reverend 

eyes 
( Wrestling with wrinkles and siesta-time) 
Did struggle to a stare. And the good man, 
Heaving his flesh, buzzed like a portly fly 
In thundery weather ; our relentless Santo 
At parting gives him for to-morrow's text 
The whip of knotted cords that cleansed the temple. 
" Preach, priest," he cries, " that from these sacred 

bounds, 
This outraged temple Italy, each Roman 
Scourge those that sell the sacrilegious doves 
Of perjured peace. O'erturn, o'erturn," he cries, 
" The tables of those German money-changers, 
That make this house of prayer a den of thieves." 
Assaulting thus with rude declaim those ears 
Dull with the gentle lowings of fat kine 
And soft excitements of refectory-bell, 
Our Santo leaves him, ere the saint disturb'd, 
In doubt of man or demon, could revolve 
Upon his axis. 

AIL Ah, ah ! Well done, Lelio ! 

Lelio. Our friar on this — 

One. Why the saints smite thee, Lelio ! 

Now, Lelio ! — Eh ? nay, Sirs, as 1 'm alive 
This was my story ! 

Another. Give thee joy of it, 

Old Giacco, 't was a sorry tale, now mine — 

Lelio. Friends ! Ave grow solemn. Wine, I say. A 
song, 
A song. 

One. Ay, something loyal — 

Lelio. Worthy friends, 

We should do well to purify the air 
Whereof these tales were made ; forced by our lips 
Into unwilling treason. 

One. Lelio ! 

Another. Shame ! 



248 THE ROMAN. 

Lelio. Therefore, my merry boys, 1 vote a ditty, 
A well-affected ditty — nay. some say 
'T was writ by Metternich and Del Caretto, 
At Schoenbrlin after dinner. Nay, no groans ! 
Sweet friends, no groans ! Nay, hear me, friends. 

Shouts from many. Down with him ! 

Lelio. No Carbonaro — 

Many. Down with him ! 

Lelio. I call it 

The triple crown, or the three jolly kings. 
The Devil — 

Some. Hear ! 

Some. Hurrah ! 

Lelio. The Devil — 

All. Hurrah ! 

Lelio. The Pope and the Kaiser. 

All. Hurrah ! Lelio ! Lelio ! 

True to the backbone still ! Up with him, boys ! 
Chair him ! a hall ! a hall ! now, Lelio, now ! 
Shout cheerly, man — here 's thunder for a chorus ! 



SCENP: VI. 

A Plain. A Cottage. 

The Monk (YiTTO'Rio Santo). Two Children {a Boy and 
Girl). Their Father and Mother {both young) sit at the 
cottage door. The Monk draws near. 

The Monk (aside). This is the spot. From hence 
my eye unseen 
Commands their cottage. Hither have I fared 
Five times at this same hour, and five times learn'd 
To love my nature better. Here I stood, 
And felt, when passing gales in snatches bore me 
Their evening talk, as if some wayward child 
Had pelted me with flowers. She is a poet, 
Or in or out of metre. Kome must have her. 



THE ROMAN. 249 

A mother too, "t is well ; then there is one thing 

The poet will serve. Ah ! art thou forth to-day, 

Thou little tyrant, that shalt rule for me ? 

My faith ! a lovely boy ! holy 8t. Mary ! 

Hark how he carols out his royalty, 

And, born a sovereign, rules and knows it not. 

The father must be mine too ; he hath bone 

And sinew, and — if the eye's gauge deceive not — 

A soul as brawny. Heavy deeds demand 

Such carriers. I will win or lose this night. 

Let me draw near. 

[The Children are sporting. The Girl hides among 
myrtles, and sings. 
Girl. Whither wingest thou, wingcst thou, 
winny wind ; 
Where, winny wind, where, oh wh.ere ? 

Boy {singing). My sister, my sis-t.er, I flit forth 
to find ; 
My sister, my sister, the orange-flow'r fair ! 

Girl. Since thy songs thy soft sister seek, 
What wouldst with her ? say, oh say. 

Boy. Oh, to pat her pearl-white cheek, 
And court her with kisses all day ! 

[The Child bursts from her hiding place, and the Chil- 
dren chase each other over the plain. 

The Mother. Husband ! the music in my soul 
would chord 
Most sweetly with thy voice. Take down thy lute. 

The Father. Nay, Lila ; bid me not do violence 
To this calm sunset. List that golden laughter, • 
Hark to our (children ! There is nmsic like 
The hour. From each to each the heart can pass, 
And know no change. 

The Mother. Sing me a song about them, 

Kind husband. Sing that song I made for thee, 
When once, on a sweet eve like this, we watch'd 
As now our joyous babes — I blessing them, 
Thou marvelling, with show of merry jest, 
How they could be so fair. 



250 THK KOMAX. 

The Father. Even as thou wilt, 

Dear Lila. If the spirit of these moments 
Deem my voice sacrilese, let him forgive 
The singer for the poet. \^He sinr/s 

Oh, Lila I round our early love, 
What voices went — in days of old I 
Some sleep, and some are heard above, 
And some are here — but changed and cold ! 

What lights they were that lit the eyes 
That never may again be bright I 
Some shine where stars are dim ; and some 
Have gone like meteors down the night. 

I marveird not to see them beam. 
Or hear tTieir music round our way ; 
A part of life thei/ used to seem, 
But these — oh whence are they V 

Ear hath not heard the tones they bring, 
Lip hath not named their name. 
Like primroses around the spring, 
Each after each they came. 

1 should not wonder, love, to see 
In dreams of elder day, 
The forms of things that used to be. 
But these — oh whence are they? 

Dost thou remember when the days 
Were all too short for love and me, 
And we roam'd forth at eve in rays 
Of mingled light from heaven and thee ? 

One gentle sign so often beam'd 
Upon us with such favouring eyes, 
That every vow we plighted seem'd 
A secret holden with the skies. 



THE ROMAN. 251 

Now sometimes, in strange phantasy, 
I think, if stars could leave their sphere, 
And won by the dear love of thee, 
Renew the constellation here, 

And shine here with the tender light 
That glinted through the olden trees, 
They would come silently and bright, 
And one by one, like these. 

How can a joy so pure and free 
Have sprung from tears and cares ? 
I have no beauty — and for thee. 
Thou hast no mirth like theirs. 

Yet with strange right each takes his rest 
Even when he will, on thy fair breast. 

Nor doubts nor fears nor prays. 
The daisy smiling on the lea 
Comes not with kindlier trust to be 

Beloved of April days. 

I look into their laughing eyes. 
They cannot have more light than thine — 
But treasured by ten thousand ties. 
Mine own I know thee, Lila mine. 

Wistful I gaze on them and say, — 
Fond, checking with a doubtful sigh 
The pride that swells, I know not why — 
These, these, oh whence are they ? 

[^The Monh draws near. 
The Father. Lila ! the same pale priest we saw 

last eve ! 
The Mother. Good husband, bid him here. 
The dust of travel 
Tells that his way was weary. Holy Sir, 
Will 't please you sit with us ? The herds are 
milk'd. 



252 THE ROMAN. 

Our bread is brown, but honest. 

The Monk. Do not ask me. 

Are you not happy ? 

The Wife. Happy! reverend father ? 

We thank God, and say yes. This day five years 
One whom I saw for the first time, through tears, 
Came with the flowers. When they began to fade 
How my heart sicken'd ! But God call'd him not 
With them. And though the snows of winter 

came 
He stayed, and held enough of summer with him 
To fill my house. Should 1 not be most happy ? 
Look on my boy, my merry one ! Good father, 
AVhich of the angels do they miss in heaven ? 
Ofttimes at mass I press him close, and tremble 
To the sweet voices, lest at " in excelsis " 
He should remember, and go back. 

The Monk. Oh mother, 

That art, and art not, kind ! 'T is a brave boy. 

The Mother. And then he is so gentle and so 
fond. 
And prattles to me sometimes in strange wisdom, 
And asks of me in such sweet ignorance, 
That teaching him I weep ; oft, oft, for joy. 
But oft for very grief, that each task leaves 
One tiny question less. 

The Monk. 'T is a sweet child. 

The Father. Sir Priest, thou knowest well how 
poor an image 
A mother's love will idolize ; but this 
Dear boy hath put a woman's heart in me. 
He is so good, so dutiful — 

The Mother. And yet 

When he kneels by me at his innocent prayer, 
Oft I look down and feel that I have need 
To learn of him. 

The Monk. Let me bless him. 

The Father. My son. 

The priest would bless thee on thy birth-day; boy, 



THE ROMAN. 253 

Come bend thee at his knee. 

The Monk. Thou little child, 

Thy mother's joy, thy father's hope — thou bright, 
Pure dwelling where two fond hearts keep their 

gladness — 
Thou little potentate of love, who comest 
With solemn sweet dominion to the old. 
Who see thee in thy merry fancies charged 
With the grave embassage of that dear past. 
When they were young hke thee — thou vindica- 
tion 
Of God — thou living witness against all men 
Who have been babes — thou everlasting promise 
Which no man keeps — thou portrait of our na- 
ture, 
Which in despair and pride we scorn and wor- 
ship — 
Thou household-god, whom no iconoclast 
Hath broken, — if 1 knew a parent's joys. 
If I were proud and full of great ambitions, 
Had haughty limbs that chafed at ill-borne chains, 
If I had known a tyrant's scorn and felt 
That vengeance though bequeathed is still revenge, 
I would pray God to give me such a son ! 
Therefore, thou little one, mayst thou sleep well 
This night : and, for thy waking, may it be 
Where there are neither kings nor slaves. Of all 
Thy playmates, mayst thou be the first to die — 

The Mother shrieks. Ah ! holy father ! 

The Monk. Smitten in the bud 

Mayst thou fade on the stalk that had no thorns 
To save thee from the spoiler — mayst thou — 

The Mother. Mercy ! 

The Father. Fiend ! murderer ! 

The Monk. Did you not bid me bless him ? 

The Mother. My boy ! my happy one ! my 
bright-eyed babe ! 

The Father. Thou hooded demon ! thou hell- 
priest ! 



254 THE ROMAN. 

The Monk- Be patient. 

I will take oiF the blessing ; but hear me, 
And you shall bid me pray for it again. 

The Mother. Blessing ? 'T is blessing to be- 
hold him smile 
AVith his bright, innocent, unconscious eyes, 
AVhich thou wouldst close forever ! 

The Monk. Is that blessing ? 

Too happy mother ! how thou lov'st to weep ! 
Come hither, child. Nay, daughter, tremble not ! 
He is a Roman, and can fear no man — 
A child, and dreads not death. 

'T is the purblind 
Dim sense of after years that makes our monsters. 
The earth hath none to children and to angels. 
Eyes weak with vigil, sear'd witli scalding tears, 
Betray us, and we start at death and phantoms 
Because they are pale. And the still-groping heart 
Incredulous by over much believing — 
AValking by sight dreads the unknown, and clings 
Even to famiUar sorrow, and loves more 
The seen earth than the unseen God. 

Aye, bright one, 
Climb near the lips that speak of death. The 

word 
Falls on the sunshine of thy face and casts 
No shadow. Thou dost play among the flowers 
Morning and even, and the selfsame wind 
Fosters and scatters them. Why shouldst thou 

fear V 
Twine thy young arms, thou little budding vine. 
Round the old barren oak ; 't is sweet to love thee. 
Too sweet. I look upon thy brow of promise. 
And see it in the future like some cloud 
Uprising from the distant hills, that seemeth 
To bear up heaven. This meiy do more. Con- 
tain it. 
Contain it and the things which heaven and earth 
Cannot contain. In thine unsullied eyes, 



THE KOMAX. 255 

Not made for tears ; in thy bright looks, sweet boy. 
Wherein the blush yet sleeps which sights of shame 
Shall call there, till the weary veins refuse 
Their office, and endurance sends the blood 
Back from the blanch'd cheeks to the terrible heart 
To heave and madden there — (let tyrants tremble 
Who rule pale slaves) — yes, in thy brave proud 

mien, 
Thou baby hero, that art born in vain, 
I see why Roman mothers wept for glory 
And we for shame. I see the ancient beauty 
Sport on the plain where Brutus watch'd his chil- 
dren, 
And give them no supremacy. I see 
lulus' self Cornelia would have own'd 
These jewels. Regulus saw nothing fairer 
When from the sands of Carthage his great thought 
Walk'd by the streams of his Italian hills, 
And by the well-known grove beheld his children 
Play round the homeside myrtles, where their 

mother 
Sat and look'd eastward ! Wherein art thou less 
Than Roman ? Oh thou hapless flower, that canst 

not 
Fruit in this frozen land, how shall I bless thee ? 
Art thou not noble, gentle, beautiful ? 
Hast thou one aspiration to climb aught 
Beside thy mother's knee ? Do they not love thee, 
Believe thee, trust thee, hope in thee, adore thee ? 
Dost thou not take their cares from morn till eve, 
And in the radiant alchemy of thine eyes 
Transmute them into joys V Runs not their fate 
In that inherited blood that warms thy cheek ? 
Were they not things like thee, and are they not 
Themselves 1 and do they murmur ? AVhat though, 

fair one. 
Angels might envy — if they were not angels — 
The stature that the fresh bright air of freedom 
Should fan thee to ? It passes the court fashion. 



256 THE ROMAN. 

Breaks footstep in the Austrian ranks, and fits 
No cell in Spielberg. It might even betide 
That Roman arms work'd ill in chains ; a voice 
Like that which cheer'd the legions, might be guilty 
Of old ancestral words which would sound strange 
In German ears. Nay. there was once a Roman — 
I saw him, and felt nobler! he was like thee ! 
Like thee as star to star !^ If you be parents, 
Fall down and pray that he may die ! 

The Mother. Good padre, 

Pity us. 

The Father. Priest ! 

The Mother. Be silent, he is moved, 

Perchance he was a father. 

[A long pause, the Monh covers his head with his viantle. 
The Monk (looking up). Evening comes 
Apace. The tired ox slackens in the furrow. 
The shade that on your threshold paused but now, 
Hath climb'd the vine where from the eaves the 

swallow 
iSings early vespers. My full heart prescient 
Heaves to the falling hour. Children, kneel down, 
Let holy words spread evening in your souls, 
Lest they be timeless when the far bell rings 
Ave Maria. \_T hey kneel. The Monk reads. 

The Monk. And I heard a voice, 
A voice from heaven, which said unto me, " Write, 
Blessed are the dead." \_He pauses. 

Rise up ! I had forgotten ! 
Forgive me ! 

The Mother. Reverend father ! 
The Father. Friend, what say'st thou ? 

The Monk. That if thou wert what that proud 
man should be 
Who calls this child " my son," this land " my coun- 
try," 
Thou hadst cried out " Amen !" 

The Father. Sir Priest, so please you 

To speak in riddles — read them. 



THE ROMAN. 257 

The Monk. I will read them. 

And mine enigma shall be such grim pastime 
As fiends might play at. 

Pity me, this anger 
Wrongs you. I do forget that you are yet 
But a few moments off from happiness, 
And that the music of her shores is singing 
Still in your ears. We dwellers in the dark 
Forget the weakness of your daylight eyes. 
I should remember that the twilight stands 
'Twixt night and day. My fierce and tropical fancy, 
Hot with swift pulses, saw the sun go down, 
And look'd up for the stars. I had a brother — 
I had ? Oh heaven ! there is no Lazarus 
So poor as Dives fallen ! You whose portion 
In the abounding present is unspent — 
You with whose friendships and familiar joys 
Earth is still populous — you who have not 
Leain'd yet, when stranger lips descant of love. 
Unconsciously to look upon the turf — 
You who are only of this upper world. 
You know not what it costs to say " I had.'" 
But there shall come a time when ye shall sit 
Safe in this cabin, yet shall feel the rain 
Falling upon you, though your limbs be dry, 
And your hearth warm. And then you shall for- 
give me, 
And feel that I have something to forgive ! 
Then you shall know how sickly and distract 
Thoughts grow, that pass their days beneath the sod, 
And sit whole nights by graves. 

I had a brother, 
We were twin shoots from one dead stem. He 

grew 
Nearer the sun, and ripen'd into beauty ; 
And I within the shadow of my thoughts. 
Pined at his side and loved him. He was brave, 
Gallant and free. I was the silent slave 
Of fancies ; neither laugh'd, nor fought, nor play'd, 
17 



258 THE ROMAX. 

And loved not morn nor eve I'or very trembling 
At their long wandering shades. In childhood's 

sports 
He won for me, and I look'd on aloof; 
And when perchance I heard him call'd my brother, 
Was proud and happy. So we grew together, 
Within our dwelling by the desert plain, 
Where the roe leap'd, 
And from his icy hills the frequent wolf 
Gave chivalry to slaughter. Here and there 
Rude heaps, that had been cities, clad the ground 
With history. And far and near, where grass 
Was greenest and the unconscious goat browsed free, 
Tlie teeming soil was sown with desolations, 
As though Time — striding o'er the field he 

reap'd — 
Warm'd with the spoil, rich droppings for the 

gleaners 
Threw round his harvest way. Frieze, pedestal. 
Pillars that bore through years the weight of glory 
And take their rest. Tombs, arches, monuments, 
Vainly set up to save a name, as though 
The eternal served the perishable ; urns. 
Which winds had emptied of their dust, but left 
Full of their immortality. In shrouds 
Of reverent leaves, rich works of wondrous beauty 
Lay sleeping — hke the children in the wood — 
Fairer than they. Columns like fallen giants. 
The victor on the vanquish'd, stretch'd so stern 
In death, that not a flower might dare to do 
Their obsequies. And some from sweet Ionia, 
With those Ionia bore to Roman skies 
JL<ay mingled, like a goddess and her mother. 
Who wear, with difference, the co-equal brightness 
Of fadeless youth. The plain thus strew'd with 

ages 
Flowcr'd in the sunshine of to-day, and bore me 
I'he Present and the Past. But there were some 
Proud changeies-s stones that stood up in the sun, 



THE KOMAN. 259 

And with their shadowy finger on the plain 

Drew the same mystic circle day by day, 

And these I worshipp'd. Honouring them, because 

It needs must be they knew the sense that sign 

Bore in the language of Eternity ; 

And fearing them tor that dark hand which ever — 

When I drew near their awful face at noon, 

And, spent with wondering, sank down unconscious, 

And slept upon the turf — came back at even 

And cast me shuddering out. 

So days wore on, 
And childhood. And the shadti of all these ruins 
Fell on my soul. And he. my pride, grew up. 
With, and without me. And we were such brothers 
As day and night. Wtfmet at morn and eve. 
Each sun uprose to find us hand in hand. 
And see a tender parting. Each first star 
Led back the shades and us. He flush'd with 

conquest, 
Rich in the well slain antelope, and all 
That feathery wage youth loves to take for labour ; 
I laden with new thoughts. Pale, travel-worn, 
Spent with fierce exercise and faint with toil, 
I, who — the shepherd of the plain would tell 

you — 
Since sunbreak upon one same broken column 
Sat like a Caryatid. So youth was mine. 
And seasons crown'd it manhood. 

Manhood came, 
And with it those fierce instincts of strange combat, 
That hurtle in the heart when the new powers. 
Like eager vassals on Ascension-day, 
Crowd round the throned will. Childhood and youth 
May own unwritten law, and kiss the rod 
That strikes, but parleys not. But man must be 
A subject, not a slave. And manhood stood 
Before the shadows that had awed the child. 
And bade them answer. And tiiey spoke. My 
heart 



260 THE ROMAN. 

Stood up. A thousand senses ran to arms, 

To guard the revelation ; but it came not. 

Like a mask'd guest, the voice went through my 

soul, 
And wandering there long days and nights, made 

all 
My hours alarums. So the phantom knight, 
In awful legend of the old Romaunt, 
By a proud castle winds his ghostly horn. 
And blows his challenge in at every gate. 
And through the chafed halls stalks the unearthly 

sound. 
And fills with strange ubiquitous defiance 
Turret and dungeon, battlement and keep. 
Which groan back answering War. While at the 

blast 
Grim sudden furies fill the martial place, 
Helm rings with hauberk, scutcheon'd gonfalon^ 
Wave in no wind. Shields rattle. Chargers 

neigh 
To unblown clarions. Weapons clash unbid 
On the vex'd walls, and men, with swords half- 
drawn. 
Start up and stare into the troublous air. 
Not otherwise the voice disturb'd my soul, 
Till spectral nights and strange unnatural days 
Beckon'd their neighbour. Death. I felt him chill 
The sunshine round me. But I only look'd 
More fondly for my brother. 

When day went, 
And we met by the well-known spot at even. 
And by the kindred moon, he saw the pale 
Faint life that lean'd upon his stalwart beauty, 
I was a dearer burden than the spoils 
Of his best hunting field. With tender pain 
He led me forth at sunrise, and came back 
Before the dews. And, with moist eyes, I mark'd 
Daily he brought home less and less at even, 
With forethought of 'the day's sad robbery, 



TPIE ROMAN. 261 

Keeping in fond economy more strength 

To lend mine indigence. And thus I measur'd 

My lifie's receding tide. 'T was beautiful 

To see, as each wave ebb'd from earth, the sands, 

Purple with flowers from heaven. He gave me 

cares, 
I paid him from the alms the hills, and vales. 
Plains, ruins, waters, fields, and skies had thrown 

me 
Through my long hours of waiting. I beheld him — 
And so you shall behold your child one day — 
Sublime as if a god of old had stepp'd 
Warm from his marble pedestal. I gave him 
Nectar for gods. I saw his eyes light up, 
And into his heroic hand I put 
The weapon of my thoughts. And he smote with 

it — 
l^ook to your boy, he will smite so — he smote 
And struck such flashes from a despot's helm 
As might set thrones on fire. And some who Avinced 
Complain'd. When the lamb bleats in the Abruzzi, 
The wolf is silent — 't is the tyrant's music ; 
But let one miscreant yelper howl, and mark 
How all the pack gives tongue. An outraged 

people 
Cries out for ages, and the sacred sound 
Broods o'er our land, and finds no wind to bear 
The thankless burden hence. A tyrant yells, — 
Though but the veiy meanest starveling hound, 
The most distemper'd cur that feeds upon 
The garbage thrown from palaces — no matter — 
A thousand echoes tell it in Vienna, 
And fill the air with German. Oh my brother, 
Would I had been content to be thy debtor, 
Nor*paid thee in a coin that bore the stamp 
Of freedom in a captive land ! They seized him, 
They seized ! Who seized ? Some Roman lictor — 

one 
Beneath whose reverend hand it would be glory 



2G2 THE ROMAN. 

To think that heroes sufFer'd so, and counted 
The touch no shame ? Goths, whose barbarian sires 
Made holiday for ours. Vandals and Huns, 
The cubs of dams more savage than our mothers 
Deign'd to enshive ; all that rank Northern growth, 
By Avhose rude hands the might of bones and 

thews 
Bearded our conscript fathers in the forum, 
And beards their children here, — who sit like them, 
Silent, but not like them sublime. Camillus ! 
What ! can we lounge upon our curule chairs, 
And play the Roman only in endurance ? 
Earth ! what hast thou of vigour less than Greece, 
That in that genial soil the serpent's teeth 
Sprang up arm'd men ; — and here we have sown 

heroes 
And reap — grass ! Yes. He fell. Behold your 

son : 
Picture him nobler than the noblest vision 
Of thy day-dreams, poor mother ! See, the blood- 
hounds 
Have track'd him to your cot. A faded face 
Lies with dark uprais'd eyes of love before 
The fond heroic brother. Heavenly calm 
Warders the room, and of the sweet emotions 
Of the rejoicing world without, lets in 
Only the silent sunshine. The door bursts ! 
A shriek ! a shout ! they seize him ! The pale form 
Springs at the first and falls. Now see your hero 
Like an inspired colossus striding o'er him. 
With either hand he hurls a savage hence. 
Foots each bare neck, with twice another twain 
Acquaints the sounding walls. Falls by some blow 
From unseen hand. Sinks by the yelling weight 
Of crowds. A moment more, and like dead ^ame 
Slung by some troopers side, mother, he greets 

thee. 
And leaves thee baptized in his sprinkled gore, 
To faiths kings dream not of Oh brother, brother, 



THE ROMAN. 263 

Oh memory ! that canst bring me back such woes 
And break not ! Thus they tore him from me. 

Ah, 
Poor tender chikl, why doth thy baby heart 
Look up through saddening eyes ? What ! little 

one, 
And canst thou read the future ? Dost thou know 
That he was like thee ? Ay, poor mother, clasp 

him, 
Clasp him while yet thou may'st ! Secure as thou 
That morn I clasp'd my brother ! Dost thou ask 
What tidings fell upon the failing ear 
Of him who in the cottage by the plain 
Lay weeping ? Be it as thou wilt, poor mother, 
It concerns thee ; — what if of all thy tears — 
Thy fated tears — a few are shed too soon ? 
For me I am a rock which, long years hence. 
The storms stripp'd rudely, and with my few flowers 
Took all that nursed them, and to after tempests 
Left but the cold bare stone. In earth or heaven 
I have no more to fear. But for ihee^ mother, 
I will read out this story, and perchance 
Teach thee to strike the fire that yet may burn 
The page ere it be thine. 

The Mother. Oh that thou wouldst ! 

The Monk. Not of the dimgeons, those dark 
catacombs 
Where our oppressors heap'd their sins for ages. 
Wrong after wrong, till the o'er-surfeited rock 
At the great day of reckoning shall belch up 
A thousand years to cry for vengeance. No, 
Those Roman limbs were purchased far too dearly 
To rot in Spielberg. He was tall of stature, 
And fair to look upon. So shall your son 
Be tall and fair. It pleasured some small tyrant 
To see such goodly slaves. The shameful trappings 
Of a detested loyalty, the fillets 
That deck the sacrifice, the fearful gewgaws 
That ratify the compact, when the body 



264 THE ROMAX. 

Serves what the soul abhors, and with the bribe 
Tricks out the whoredom, these worse chains re- 
placed 
The felon's fetters, and the outraged Roman 
Rose up an Austrian soldier ! The plot thickens — 
The shadow of the end is on my soul — 
Count tears for words — nay, you are parents — I 
Was but a brother — wherefore should I speak ? 
Poor mother ! in this Jordan I have need 
To be baptized of you. My soul is wise 
In grief Yet a few years and you shall smile — 
If you can smile — to think I taught ye. Tell me, 
What would your gallant boy, if tyrants bade him 
Shed Roman blood like rain ? I^ook on your 

Roman ! 
Mine was no less! — Was — Oh my heart! He 

hurl'd — 
His proud looks prouder than his words of pride, — 
With desperate hand the execrated sword 
Flagrant before the despot and defied him ! 
Rent from his breast the gilt dishonour, spurn 'd it 
Into Italian dust. Erect, defiant, 
Before the host cried Freedom ! and was doom'd, 
Doom'd to a coward's death. They led him forth. 
They led him forth a pace upon the Lea, 
Scourged, buffeted, reviled, and only asking 
To die unbound, with his unconquer'd face 
Turned to the south and home. And they denied 

him. 
By a rude trench where fresh-turn'd earth lay dark, 
He stood a passing moment, and since then 
I say " I had a brother." 

If I weep 
To see your child, forgive me, and remember 
When I drew near his sport this eve, and you 
Look'd on with smiles, and I with sighs, you mar- 

vell'd. 
Why marvel, when we saw not the same scene ? 
Before you lay the happy evening world. 



THE ROMAN. 265 

O'er-joyous in the promise of more joy, 
And there he sported like a merry voice 
Singing of morrows. Mine eyes sought the same 
Point of the compass, but for me the shades 
In my dark soul went forth to meet the night, 
The night that look'd from grove and thicket, call- 

By missionary winds and twilight birds 

All earth to that meek face wherein she payeth 

Her duties to the moon. He sported, too, 

In my world, and 't was sweet to look on him. 

But to my eyes, in ambient atmospheres 

Of tints and hues that brighten'd other days. 

Floated round smiling — like a choir of angels 

About a cherub — that old dreamy past. 

In which he plays my brother. Near his feet 

There was a long sad mound, and by the tnound 

Dark drops of blood. And when he prattled out 

His childish joy, my heart heard distant muskets, 

And to my ear the heavy earth fell dead 

Into a coffinless grave. 

[ The vesper bell sounds from the distant convent. 
Ave Maria ! 

The Mother (throwing herself passionately to the 
ground). Ave Maria ! Happy evermore, 
Oh Mater Unigeniti — save, save. 
Oh save my child ! 

The Father. Ave Maria ! Queen 

Of judgment that went forth to victory ! 
Remember desolation blights the hills 
That slew the Crucified ! Mother avenged ! 
If my first-born must be like thine, grant vengeance 
Like thine ! 

The Mother. If it must be — 

The Monk. Ave Maria ! say 

It shall not be ! Thou who didst bear salvation ! 
Oh Virgin ! thou who in thy bi'east didst carry 
The fate of worlds unfainting — give, give strength 
To these ! 



206 THK ROMAN. 

The Father and Mother. Oh Mother, pity us ! — 
The Monk. Oh Mother, 

Pity our country ! Mater benedicta I 
Thou who three days didtit watch a tomb in tears. 
Pity our vigil of a thousand years, 
And bid the dead arise ! 

The Father and Mother. Oh Queen of sighs. 
Look down on us from thy fair heaven with eyes. 
Softer than evening I 

The Mother. Mater casta, pia, 

Quondam afflicta — take him to thy skies ! 
Even what thou wilt for me, but oh, for him 
Hast thou no place among thy seraphim ? 
Is he not thine ? Thou gavest him. Take, oh take 
The brio-ht gift back, for a sad mother's sake, 
Oh Mother ! ' 

The Monk. Ah ? 
The Father. Amen ! 

The Monk. Ave Maria ! [They rise. 

The Father. Priest, hast thou no Amen ! 
The Monk. Did I not tell you 

That you should crave my blessing, though it fell 
Black as a curse ? 

The Mother. Alas ! 
The Monk. Says the priest ill 

Who prays the mother's prayer V 

The Mother. Be merciful ! 

The Monk. Nay, be you merciful. I look upon 
This gentle boy, and every blushing feature 
Of his young beauty cries for mercy — 

The Mother. ^ Priest, 

If thou art false in all things as in this, 
God help thee. 1 have been a tender mother ! 
The Monk. Thou filiacide ! Why should he die ? 
This land, 
Hath it no place for him ? This Roman sunshine, 
Doth it fall strangely on his cheek ? 

These flowers. 
Twine they not kindly with his hair, and peep 
With fondness in his brighter face ? 



THE ROMAN. 267 

The Boy. Oh, mother, 

Tell him they love me. 

The Mother. Hush ! my beautiful ; 

What is there loves thee not V 

The Monk. Why should he die, 

Whom the whole world surrounds, and with chaste 

voices 
Woos to sweet life ? You craven hearts ! Who slew 
My brother, and shall slay your son ? These hills ? 
These woods that frown on you ? The sun and 

moon. 
That look down on their ancient shrines, and smile 
That you adore their God V Tell me, what lot 
Is desperate which the heaven and earth condemn 

not? 
Did this land, which bore gods, spend all its strength 
In the sublime conception, and birth-worn 
Bring pigmies forth in these last days ? What fate 
Made only Romans mortal ? Is it written 
That when the oppressor meets the oppress'd, and 

one 
Dies, it must be the slave f You Romans ! — stay, 
I have o'ershot myself. You will betray me. 
You have look'd on this child for five long years. 
Five long fond loving years, and never wish'd 
To save him — why should I — 

The Mo/ her. Oh father, save him ! 

Bid me die — on my knees — 

The Father. Peace. Pi'iest, the cloud 

Is silent till it lightens ; dost thou take me ? 
The Monk. Thou hast a fearless eye. 
The Father. Priest, try my heart ! 

The Monk. Ah, traitor ! what V 't is well. Yes, 
he for whom 
That fair boy prattles hath a lifelong preacher 
No father yet sat under unconverted. 
We men are calm or hurricane. The heart 
Fills silently, and at the last wrong bursts. 
He laughs his merry creed out at all hours. 
And dav and night looks treason. 



268 THK ROMAN. 

The Father. Come the day 

When deeds shall back his looks ! 

The Monk. Well said, brave Roman ! 

Thy hand ! and M^e are brothers. Shall we brook 
To see this Italy our fathers left us 
Held for an Austrian garden ? 

The Father. Noble priest, 

Some say the garden bears strange fruit ere long, 
But the old soil is crop-sore, and craves fatting 
AVith German blood. 

The Monk. Ah ? 

The Father. Hast thou heard some whispers 

The wind brings from Sardinia ? Is it well ? 

The Monk. All things are well, but silence and 
endurance. 

The Father. Bend here ! the very spider on the 
wall 
Must not hear this — 

The Monk. (Ay, what so pitiful, 

So loathsome, but it may connive with kings ?) 

The Father. Hark in thine ear. The jolly lords 
of Naples, 
Florence, Turin, Verona, ay, Modena, 
And some too near to name, ride bravely, — eh ? 
AVhat if the horse kick ? 

The Monk. Ah ? 

The Father. This is fair weather ; 

Worse grubs have grown to butterflies. How now, 
If these same Duchies spread their wings Republics? 
What then, my Carbonaro ? Is it well ? 

The Monk. 'T is well. The poorest living face 
hath grace 
Beside a death's-head. That fierce king did well 
Who slew the priests of Baal, hew'd down his 

groves. 
And spoil'd his altars. But that king did better 
Who crown'd Moriah. 'T is a zealot's faith 
That blasts the shrines of the false god, but builds 
No temple to the true. 



THE ROMAN. 269 

The Father. Ay, what is Truth ? 

Pilate lacks answer. 

The Monk. The bold man like thee, 

Who lays his life in a strange hand — 

The Father (starting). Ah, Priest ! 

His life — how now ? 

The Monk. Jestest, my gentle Roman ? 

Wronged men like us, sworn to such deeds as ours, 
Leave courtly phrases when they speak of treason. 
Alas, poor Italy ! to tell his fortune 
To whom a priest's lips can bring home rebellion, 
Merits no sorcerer's fee. A trut-e to tritiing. 
What wasted words are these ! Thou art a father. 
Have I not said to thee this boy that is 
To die, may live — what more ? 

The Father. No more. Sir Priest, 

Thou takest me ill. There is no wild rebellion 
So fierce I have not fire enough to light it. 
If I had rather chosen to be free, 
Of all men — so. Thou hast my faith, who boldest 
My halter. 

The Mother. And, by Heaven, thou hast it. Priest, 
Though we were freer than a thousand winds ! 
Aye, and our lives a million million times 
Lived and died over, so thou wilt but save 
My child. 

The Monk. Have I not said it ? Wherefore, 
friends, 
Is this unseemly turbulence of passion V 
Did you not call me to your solemn counsel ? 
Had I not told you how my brother died ? 
Had you not wept with vision of those pangs. 
Which in that boy's face yet shall rack your eyes ? — 

The Mother. Shall ? Oh, my father ! Oh, my 
father ! 

The Monk. Shall. 

He who would conquer kings, himself must be 
The first king conquer'd. Shall a rebel start 
To hear rebellion ? Shall I have mv counsel 



270 TH^: koman. 

Cried up and down the earth, like the small will 
Of vulf^ar majesty ? He who would creep 
To sleepino- game is silent. Will they stand 
Firm, think you, at the judgment and the scaffold, 
Who start beneath the lintel of their homes. 
And rave at evening chat ? No. He must die. 

[The Mother starts up, seizing a knife that lies near. 

The Mother. Priest ! I am but a woman, and a 
weak one ! 
I think thee faithful, and in that thought bless thee. 
I am a wife, a wife. Priest, and a true one ; 
I think khn brave, and in that thought revere him; 
But let me doubt ye — only let me doubt ye — 
And I would wash that hearthstone in your blood. 
If but the poorest spatter on the wall 
Would save my child ! 

The Monk (aside). Then by that chain I lead 
thee, 
Wild lioness. 

(Aloud). There heaves a bosom meet 
To suckle Freedom. Calm thee, Roman mother, 
That yet shalt smile in Rome. The day may come 
To strike ; till then seal up thine own hot lips, 
As thou wouldst seal thy foe's. Be true, a hero 
Shall call thee " mother ! " Fail but in thy fealty 
To the least word of mine, my heaviest grief 
Is bliss beside thy lightest. Peace. This seal 
Makes the bond perfect. Now to calmer counsel. 
Thou say'st, brave Roman, that our lords ride 

fiercely. 
That the steed chafes already — see ! he throws 

them. 
Who vaults into the saddle V Every flock 
Has slain its pigmy swain — salvete greges ! 
But, patriot, who shall lead the sheep to pasture, 
And keep the wolf at bay ? 

The Father. Each separate state 

Must crown the sovereign people. 

The Monk. By what name 



Tin-: iioMAX. 271 

Will men speak, think ye, of that seven-hill'd city, 
Within whose catacombs dominion sleeps, 
And in whose ruins Time himself walks liohtly, 
Lest she should stir below V 

The Father. Rome. 

The Monk. And the rest, 

How do you name them ? 

The Father. By the names they found 

Noble enoujih to strike in ; thus, Milan. 

The Monk. And why ? Is the sky bluer at Mikm 
Than where we stand ? Are the clouds red at 

noon ? 
Or by what mystic omen doth the world 
Call for this christening ? Doth Dame Nature, old, 
And yearning to be fruitful in her dotage, 
Breed names, and call them children ? 

When you dream 
Of our Italian fatherland, it glitters 
With half a hecatomb of palaces. 
Each royal. Your free heart is sad. You frown. 
Strike off their crowns. Salute them commonweals, 
And wake up shouting " Glory ! " How now, 

Roman, 
If some strong arm stretching from sea to sea 
Sweep all your pasteboard kickshaws to the ocean, 
And leave us the broad j&eld of Italy 
To build up Rome ? 

Marvel not, gentle friends, 
Sprung out of yesterday, poor hearts, and growing 
Like creeping plants, even to the size and fashion 
Of what ye lean on — marvel not that we 
W^ho worship Freedom with one soul, adore her 
In different deity. As I have told you, 
Dark fanes and reverend trophies, stones that might 
Be portals to the world ; the fossil limbs 
By which Ave build the giants of old time ; 
Grey wonders stranger for decay ; strange frag- 
ments 
Of forms once held divine, and still, like angels, 



272 THE feOMAN. 

Iiniuortal everjwliere ; lone hermit columns, 
Whereto the ideal hath no space to add 
The pile they bore ; stern pediments that look'd 
On altars where antipodes burnt incense, 
And tne three arms of the great globe piled up 
Their several tribute ; all the sacred shades 
Which the great Past receding from the world 
Casts out of heaven on earth ; — these and like 

these, 
The high, the deep, the eternal, the unbounded, 
Were sponsors to my soul : and if my thought, 
Where your more nice and neoteric fancy 
Labours with townships, deals out continents, 
Think it no marvel. Listen. 

The sunrise 
Of that dread day which found me brotherless, 
8a w a pale face on a low bed. Despair 
Gave life by taking it. That evening's sun 
Fell on the empty pallet, and beside it 
An arm'd man, flush'd to wildness. 

Lost, alone. 
Every sweet structure of my heart in heaps, 
With the one terrible shock ; mazed, ignorant 
Of all things but the one which cast them forth, 
The desolation in my soul cried out. 
And rushing to the ruins 1 fell down, 
The darkest ruin of all. 1 knelt and wept. 
And was a child before them, with the madness 
Of a man's heart. I fiell upon my face. 
Strange sleep possess'd me. Through the hot 

short night, 
Across the hotter desert of my brain 
My lifie went past. All seasons new and old, 
All hours of day and night, all thoughts, fears, fan- 
cies. 
Born on this spot, met as in after-death 
About me ; and of each my tatter'd heart 
Begg'd healing and found none. At each new 
face 



THK ROM AX. 273 

I look'd up wild with hope, and look'd down fierce 
With chafed expectance. Then I rose and cursed 
All hope, all thought, all knowledge, all belief, 
And fell down still believing. With each hour 
In my spent soul some lingering faith went out, 
Woes that began in fire had burnt to blackness, 
The very good within me had grown grim, 
The frenzy of my shipwreck'd heart had thrown 
Its last crust overboard — then, then, oh God ! 
Then in the midnight darkness of my passion, 
The veil was rent which hid the holy of holies, 
And I beheld and worshipp'd. Mad despair 
Rung out the desperate challenge — " What art 

thou, 
Unpitying presence ! which for years beside 
These stones hast stood before me, pass'd me, 

touch'd me, 
Shook my blind sense, and seal'd my eyes from 

seeing ? 
Tell me, that I may curse thee ! " 

The sun rose. 
Forth towards me as in awful adjuration 
Each ruin stretch'd appealing shades. There came 
Soft lightning on my soul, and by a voice 
Ineffable, and heard not with the ears, 
" RoMK." At that sound a thousand thousand 

voices 
Spread it through all things. Each imperial col- 
umn. 
Each prone grey stone, touch'd by the eloquent 

winds, 
Heard it and gave it back. Trees, woods and 

fountains 
In musical confusion, leaves, buds, blossoms — 
Even to small flowers unseen, with voices smaller 
Than treble of a fay — atoms of sound 
Whereof a thousand falling on one ear, 
The unwitting sense should count them troubled 

silence — 

18 



•274 THE KOMAN. 

Birds, brooks, and waterfalls, — all tongues ot 

dawn, 
The very morning hum of summer time, 
Swell'd the sweet tumult ; early mists that lay 
Silent on hill-tops, vocal in the sun 
RoU'd oil" like waves of voices, the stirr'd air 
Sung with bright ecstasy. Down came the thunder, 
Like a va.-t hull cleaving the sea of sound, 
That lasliM up louder ; then the hills cried out, 
And emulous the valleys ; all the earth 
Shook with the sounding ardour, and methought 
My flush'd soui, drunk with zeal, leap'd high and 

shouted, 
Rome I With that name, incomprehensible beauty 
Fill'd the still gratulate air f)'om earth to heaven. 
And knowing I knew not. Even as one dead 
I fell. As though that one great sight accomplish'd 
All consciousness, and the progressive sense 
Reaching the goal stood still. 

Ere I awoke. 
The sun had mounted the proud throne of noon, 
Received the homage of the world, and stept 
From his high-place well-pleased. 

Calm, brave, serene, 
Refresh'd as from a sleep of ages, weak 
As a birth-weary mother, but yet strong 
In cast-out sorrows, I stood up and gazed 
With long looks of sweet wonder. The fierce 

craving 
In my lank hungry soul had ceased. The thirst 
That burn'd my hcait was quench'd. The mystic 

yearning 
For something ever near, and ever far. 
That made my life one dream of wasting fever, 
Was over. AH those indistinct strange voices 
Wherein, like waters underground, great truths 
Were heaving in my heart, and lash'd its sides 
To bursting ; those dim tones wherein, like fra- 

<iranc(j 



THE ROMAX. 275 

From troubled flowers at midnight, unseen balm 
Went up in my dark soul, all the forerunners, 
The thousand messengers by which this night 
Had told me it would come, — all partial knowl- 
edge 
Before the consummation fell away 
As things that had no oflice ; wither'd up 
Like blossom on the fruit. Thus it must be 
'1 hat noble man who deems his nature born 
As vast as truth, must sweat, and toil, and suffer, 
And overcome — enduring. When the heart 
Adds a new planet to its heaven, great portents 
Clash the celestial influence ; strange signs 
Of coming dread, mysterious agencies, 
And omens inconceivable convulse 
The expectant system, while the stranger sails 
Still out of sight in space. Dim echoings 
Not of the truth, but witnessing the ti-uth — 
Like the resounding thunder of the rock 
Which the sea passes — rushing thoughts like 

heralds, 
Voices which seem to clear the way for greatness, 
Cry advent in the soul, like the far shoutings 
That say a monarch comes. These nmst go by. 
And then the man who can out-watch this vigil 
Sees the apocalypse. Oh that first hour 
Within the Eden of a quiet soul ! 
Oh for that bounteous hour, to him whose youth, 
Bred up in grief's sad penury, hath found 
Joy's daily pittance all too poor to lay 
One pleasance by ; oh that Pierian hour 
When first the plenteous life o'erwelling sends 
Its irrigating streams before the face 
Of the young hope, and decks, in frondent dis- 
tance. 
To-morrow with the verdure of to-day. 
That hour when first the slipping foot grows firm 
Upon some plot of present, and we gaze 
From the suliicient rock with softeiiinir eves 



276 THE ROMAN. 

Across the green sweet pastures of the future, 
And for the first time dare to look on them 
As heritage. How the exulting thoughts, 
Like children on a holiday, rush forth 
And shout, and call to every huaiming bee, 
And bless the birds for angels ! Oh that hour ! 
In the reflected sunshine of remembrance 
My heart is melting. Twilight and the dews 
Proclaim me parlous. 'T is a sorry string 
That, being struck, is silent. Farewell Romans. 
Meet me to-morrow here. This is no mood 
To plan stern deeds. Farewell. Remember, 

courage. 
Truth, silence. If you fail in either, look 
Upon your boy. 



SCENE VII. 



A lonely Spot. The turf-grown site of some old Roman 
Amjjiiitheatre. 

A meeting of Minstrels. An aged Bard presides. 
The Monk enters. 

The Monk {to a Minstrel). Sir, 

I have walk'd far and crave a seat. 

Minstrel (to another). His reverence 

Is weary and would sit. Is it against 
The statutes of our order ? 

Second Minstrel. Holy Sir, 

There are good feet that do not walk Farnassiis. 
Behold us here a minstrel convocation. 
And deem it no irreverence if we say, 
That in that company of bards a priest 
Lacks civic rights. 

The Monk. Sir, thou art not yet free 

Of that mo:?t holy guild. Thy soul hath vet 



THE ROMAN. 277 

To learn the instinctive flight which cleaves the air 
Of immortality. I Ho perceive 
As yet it wings by sight. The dove that bears 
The poet's message starts from that pure height 
Where earthly fashions fade. Let common eyes 
Read men in frock and cowl. The creeping thing 
That harbours in the bark knows not the region 
Where the fruit hangs. I hoped, Sirs, to find here 
A nobler estimation. 

Another Minstrel. And thou slmlt. 

Others. Bravo ! Well said. Hear Giulio ! 

Another. This guitar, 

Its face, Sir Priest, like mine, is brown with age ; 
Find me the newest dainty from Cremona 
That dares a bar with it ! 

Another. Or mine, and yet 

'T was the sole heritage my grandsire left. 

Another. Would we. Sir Priest, exchange these 
twisted entrails 
For chords of gold ? 

Another. Faith, I would string my lute 

With hangman's hemp, if it made music. 

Others. " Aye, 

And I. And I. And I. 

The President. Sir and good father. 

You see us here a humble company — 
I speak the language of the world, Sir, nor 
Affirming nor denying — (the wayfarer 
Of many lands is not responsible 
For each vernacular) — Sir, in what stature 
We may be seen by the renewing angel 
Some few years hence I say not, but you see us 
Being what we are, met to pursue an art 
Lightly esteem'd, but Avhich to name divine 
Is not the filial rapture of a son, 
Since in the change of time it hath not changed; 
Indigenous to all the earth. A spirit 
Evoked by many, but a bound familiar 
To no magician yet. The equal tenant 



278 THE ROxMAN. 

Of loftiest palace and of lowliest cot, 
Trea'^linsj the rustic and the royal floor 
To the same step and time. In every age, 
With all the reverence that man claims as man. 
Preaching to clouted clown, and with no more 
To thronefl kings. The unrespective friend — 
In such celestial wise as gods befriend — 
By turns of haughtiest monarch, humblest swain ; 
And with impartial love and power alike 
Ennobling prince and peasant. Giving all, 
Receiving never. What else makes a god ? 
What human art looks so divine on earth ? 
And, as you tell us, seraphs in high heaven 
Find nothing worthier. Sir, accept me well. 
Let not these lutes, pipes, harps, and dulcimers, 
And outward signs of the musician's trade. 
Mis-teach you of us. Reverend Sir, believe not 
That — priests of Harmony — our service knows 
One only of her temples. Sir, we hope 
One day to serve her where the ears of flesh 
Cannot inherit; where material sounds 
Enrobe no more her pure divinity. 
And we, w/icumber'd by the aids of sense, 
Shall see, and in the silent universe 
Adore her. Holy Sir, each minstrel here 
Is poet also. 

The Monk. Canst thou tell me, friend, 
What 't is to be a poet V 

President. Such the theme 

Of this day's contest. 

The Monk. Let me strike a string 

In such a strife. 

President. Read thou this riddle for us, 

And, father, this my chair I abdicate, 
And crown thee king of bards. 

The Monk. Nay, friend, forbear — 

Prithee no kings. I would believe, good brother, 
All honest here. Have you a kind harp, friends. 
That for a stranger's sake will do sweet duty 



THE ROMAN. 279 

In unaccustom'd hands ? 

One. Take mine. 

Another. Or mine. 

Another. Or mine. 

Another- {aside). Now, Scickcloth ! 

Another (aside). Look to hear Apollo 

Discourse Cburch music ! 

Another {aside). To the buttery-hatch, 

Ye strolling thrummers. 'T is alms-giving day, 
My life the godly almoner is good 
At broken victuals. How many stale masses. 
Crusts scriptural and classic bones — 

Another. Fie, Henri, 

Thy wanton ditty ! 

Henri. Ingrate ! wot I not 

The priest was coming ? 

Another (aside). Hush, clean ears, clean ears, 
A psalm at least ! 

Another. Surely the Song of Songs. 

Henri. Aye, but no Solomon's. 

Others. Friends, friends, friends, 

Silence. 

The Monk sings. The poet bends above his lyre 
and strikes — 
No smile, no smile of rapture, on his face ; — 
The poet bends above his lyre and strikes, — 
No fire, no fire of passion, in his eye ; — 
The poet bends above his lyre and strikes. 
No flush, no prophet's flush, upon his cheek ; — 
Calm as the grand white cloud where thunders sleep, 
Like a wrapt listener — not in vain to listen — 
Feeling the wind^ with every sense to catch 
Some far sound wandering in the depths of space. 
The poet bends above his lyre and strikes. 

[Mttrlude of music. 
The poet bends above his lyre and strikes. 
Ah Heaven ! I hear! Again. Ah Heaven, I hear ! 
Again : — the vacant eyes are moist with tears ! 
Again : — they gleam with vision. Bending lower, 



28U THE ROMAN. 

Crowding his soul upon the strings. — Again. 
Hark, hark, thou heart that leapest ! Ye thrill'd 

fibres ! 
See the triumphant minstrel in the dust, 
To his own music. Hark ! Angels in heaven 
Catch it on golden harps ! Down float their echoes 
Richer than dews of Paradise. Inspired, 
Tuning each chord to the enchanted key. 
The poet sweeps the strings and wakes, awe- 
stricken, 
The sounds that never die. From hill to hill 
They vibrate round the world of time, as deep 
Calleth to deep. [Here the Monk ceases to sing. 

But note like this stirs not 
The wind of every day. And 't is the ear 
To know it, woo it, wait for it and stand 
Amid a Babel deaf to other speech. 
That makes a poet. And from ear like this, 
That troubling of the air which common men 
Call harmony, falls unrespected off. 
As balls from a charm'd life. 

Hear yet again 
A better parable. The good man hears 
The voice in which God speaks to men. The poet, 
In some wrapt moment of intense attendance, 
The skies being genial and the earthly air 
Propitious, catches on the inward ear 
The awful and unutterable meanings 
Of a divine soliloquy. 

Soul-trembling 
With incommunicable things, he speaks 
At infinite distance. So a babe in smiles 
Repeats the unknown and unknowable 
Joys of a smiling mother. 

President. Victor, hail ! 

How say you, friends — a triumph ? 

Many. Crown him, crown him ! 

The Monk. Good friends, fair brothers, how have 
I deserved this V 



THE ROMAN. 281 

Whose chattels have I seized, whose hearth pro- 
faned, 
Whom have I slain, whose daughter have I ravish'd, 
That you should cry of crowns f 

President. Sir, reverend Sir, 

This chair of state is yours. 

All. Ascend, ascend ! 

The Monk. Friends, brother bards, since thus 
you bid me call you. 
With a long weary journey must I buy 
The honours of this moment? When I spent 
Those labours — all my wealth — they were dis- 
bursed. 
In the shrewd estimate that so much outlay 
Invested in your wisdom could but yield 
A goodly increase. Only on such venture 
Prudence, the soul's stern sacristan, paid down 
The perils of this pilgrimage. Which of you, 
Receiving wherewithal to buy a harp, 
Shall spend it on a chaplet ? Which among you, 
Playing the overture to some mild air 
Of sweet attendance and humility, 
Succeeds it with a march ? My gentle friends. 
Let me go even as I came, — as much 
Wiser as you may please — in all things else 
No whit less humble. Sir, and my good father, 
Resume the place of honour. These grey hairs 
And time-taught looks beseem it. 1 besee(;h you. 
Speak more at length. Methlnks the chorister 

years 
Must needs chant nobly in such reverend walls. 
For me, I claim the seat of a disciple, 
And if in any wise I have excell'd, 
And I yet fear, dear friends, you do mistake 
The stature of your courtesy for that 
Of my desert — reward me, ere we part, 
With one more hearing. 

Many .■^houL Ten ! Agreed. Agreed. 

Asireed. Lons live the Monk. Well said ! 



282 THE ROMAN. 

President. Companions, 

You have heard the conqueror. While we have 

fornrotten 
Our wonted duties for" this episode, 
The unoblivions sun hath paused not once ; 
Our time is far spent, and five harps are still 
Unstruck. Hath any brother yet unheard 
Any unbaptized child of voice or lute 
Born since our last song-feast, whereon he craves 
Fraternal benediction ? Let each such 
Stand forth. 

A Minstrel. I have a tale of rural pity, 
Set in a rustic measure to such music 
As the uncertain winds, and rustling leaves. 
And devious sounds of night made round the heads 
Of them it sings. A very simple sorrow, 
To be heard only in the silent hours 
It sigh'd in. Use it gently, Sirs ; I call it 
'^ The Winter's Night." 

President. Acquit thee, brother ! 

All. ' Hear ! 

Minstrel sings. And she stood at its father's gate, 

At its father's gate she stood, 

With her baby at her breast ; 

'T was about the hour of rest — 

There were lights within the place — 

The old moon began to sink, 

(Lono;, like her, upon the wane,) 

It grew dark ; she drew her hood 

Close about her pallid face ; 

At the portal down she sate. 

Where she will not sit again. 

" Little one," she slowly said, 

Bending low her lowly head, 

" In all this wide world only thee, 

And my shame, he gave to me. 

When thou earnest I did think 

On that other gift of his — 

Hating that I dreaded this. 



THK ROMAN. 283 

Thou art fair — but so was he ; 
'T is a winninn; smile of thine, — 
Ah ! what fatal praise it is ! — 
One such smile once won all mine. 
Little one, I not repine, 
It befits me well to wait 
My lord's will, till I be dead — 
Once it was a gentler will ! " 

With that, a night-breeze full chill, 
Shook some dead leaves from the lime ; 
At the sad sound, loud and burly 
Like a warder, went the blast 
Round about the lordly house ; 
Hustled her with menial wrath, 
INIuch compelling forth her cast, 
Who was all too fain to go ; 
She sank down upon the path — 
Sht' cower'd lower, murmuring low, 
" What was I that I should earn, 
For I loved him, more return 
Than I look'd for of the sun. 
When he smiled upon me early 
In our merry milking-time ? " 

Then was silence all ; the mouse 
Rustled with the beechen mast, 
The lank fox yelp'd round, the owl 
Floating, shriekVl pale horror past ; 
Strange and evil-omen'd fowl 
Croak'd about her, and knew not. 
Round her had the last bat fed. 
" Little one," she said, " the cot 
Where I bore thee was too low 
For a haughty baron's bride. 
Little one, I hope to go 
Where the palace-halls are wide ; 
When thou prattlest at his knee. 
Wilt thou sometimes speak of me 'i 



284 THP: ROMAN. 

Tell him, in some eve," she said, 

" Where thou knowest I shall be. 

When he hears that I am grand, 

In those mansions ever fair. 

Will he look upon me there 

As a lady of the land, 

And think no more in scorn 

Upon thee and on the dead? " 

All below the garden banks, 

Where the blighted aspens grew, 

Faded leaves faint breezes blew, 

As in pity, round her. Then 

Low whispering in her plaintive plight. 

Her shivering babe she nearer nurst. 

" 'T is a bitter night," said she, 

" Little one, a dreary night. 

Little shalt thou bless the first, 

Pass'd upon thy father's ground. 

Aye ! cower closer in thy nest, 

Birdie! that didst never build 

There is warmth enough for thee, 

Though the frost shall split the tree 

W^here it rocks " 

" Little one," she said again, 

" Babe," she said, " my little son. 

Thou and I at last must part ; 

There is in my freezing heart 

Only life enough for one. 

By the crowing of the cocks, 

Early steps will tread the way, 

Could mine arms but wrap thee round 

'Till the dawning of the day ! " 

Silent then she seem'd to pray, 

Then she spoke like one in pain, 

" Little one, it shall be done, 

I will keep thee back no more ; 

It were sweet to go together, 

If thou couldst be mine alone ; 

As it is I must restore 



THE ROMAN 285 

Treasure not mine own. 

All the gift and the sweet thanks 

Will be over by to-morrow. 

He must weep some tears to see 

What at morn they will bring in 

Where she dared not living come. 

He will take thee to his home, 

And bless the mother in the child. 

Little one, 't is sweet to me, 

Who once gave him all T had — 

Hoped it duty, found it sin — 

Once more to give all, but now 

Take no shame, and no more sorrow 

Than a death-pang sets at rest." 

Closer then her babe she prest, 

Chiller sank the wintry weather. 

Once again the owl cried near, 

Once more croak'd the strange night-bird ; 

From the stagnance of the fosse 

Lorn pale mists, like winding-gear, 

Hung about her and look'd sad ; 

Then the blast, that all this while 

Slumber'd by a freezing fountain. 

Burst out rudely, like a prince 

From a midnight revel rushing. 

In his train a thousand airs, 

Each ambitious of his guilt. 

Each as cruel, cold and wild, 

Each as rugged, chill and stark. 

Hurtled round their leader crushing 

All the fretwork of the dark ; 

Frosty palace, turret and tower, 

Mosque and arabesque, mist-built 

By winter fairies. Then, grown gross 

With the licence of the hour, 

They smote the mother and the child ! 

Dark night grew darker, not a smile 

Came from one star. The moon long since 

Had sunk behind the mountain. 



286 THE ROMAX. 

At the mirkest somewhat stirred 
The sere leaves, where the mother sate ; 
For a moment the babe cried. 
Something in the siUnice sigh'd, 
And tlie night was still. Oh fate ! 
AVhat hadst thou done ? Oh that hard sight 
Which morn must see ! When Winter went 
About the earth at dawn, he rent 
His locks in pain, and cast grey hairs 
Upon it as he past. So when 
Maids, poor mother, wail thy lot — 
Mournful at the close of day — 
By that legendary spot 
Oft they tell us, weeping, how 
Hoar frost lay on thy pale brow 
AVhen they found thee, and was not 
Paler than the clay. 
A Minstrel. A grievous tale ! 
The Monk. Where 's he that dares to say so V 
Liar ! thou art not grieved. Any vile Austrian 
May serve thy sister so to-morrow night. 
And he that wears the longest sword among ye 
Shall fear to draw it ! 

A young Minstrel. -Here's my blade ! Show me 
The bloodless German ! 

The Monk. Youth ! respect thy master ! 

Dost thou talk treason ? What, boy, if the German 
Be bloodless ? He hath blood enough to rule thee ! 
Tut I sheathe thy maiden sword — leave pantomime 
To puppets — I but said thou art not grieved. 
And I said well. Such thews as thine being grieved 
Ne'er yet were idlers. Tut, tut, man, be grateful, 
Thine owner feeds thee well. I never saw 
A sleeker slave. 

The Minstrel. Slave ! 

Presidtnt. Friends, friends, friends, I pray you, 
Silence. Benvolio's sonw ! 

x\ Minstrel. I have a fancy 

About a rose ; sung on the morn I saw 



THE ROMAN'. 287 

My mother's first grey hair. Let your harsh 

thoughts 
Breathe gently on it — it is ooerblotvn. 

Oh maiden ! touch gently the rose overblown, 
And think of the mother thy childhood hath known ; 
Smile not on the buds that exult from her stem, 
Lest her pallor grow paler that thou lovest them. 
From their beauties, oh maid, each bright butterfly 

chase. 
Till his duties are paid to that dew-faded face, 
And forbid the gay bee one deceitful sweet tone, 
Till his vows are all said to the rose overblown. 
Sorrow, oh maid, is more grateful than bliss. 
Rosebuds were made for the light breeze to kiss. 
And woo how thou wilt in the soft hope to see 
Some brifrht burstino- blossom that blooms but for 

thee. 
Weep thy fond wish, thou shalt look up to find 
Thy tears worn as gems to beguile the next wind. 
Turn then thine eyes to the rose overblown, 
Speak of its place in a tremulous tone, 
Sigh to its leaves as they fall one by one, 
And think how the young hopes the heart used to 

own 
Are all shedding fast — like the rose overblown. 
Yes, turn in thy gloom to the rose overblown, 
Reverently gather each leaf that hath gone. 
Watch every canker and wail every streak, 
As thou countest the lines on thy mother's dim 

cheek ; 
Twilight by twilight, and day after day, 
Keep sweet attendance on sweeter decay. 
When all is over weep tears — two or three — 
And perchance long years hence, when the grass 

grows o'er thee. 
Fond fragrant tribute to days long by-gone, 
Shall be shed on thy grave by some rose overblown. 
The Monk. We are a wealthy people 



28S TlIK i: O.MAX. 

In all the faculties of woe. We have 
Our sighs for roses, elegies for sparrows. 
And seas of salt tears tor deceased gold-fish ; 
We cat our pet-lambs in a mourning robe, 
And bury game-cocks with " the point of war." 
And since we weep no tears for thee, my country, 
It needs must be thou hast deserved thy death. 
Rome, Rome ! I was deceived ; I thought thee 

murder'd, 
Aye, foully, foully murder'd I 

A MinsfreL Thou hast thought 

Well. 

Others. Bravo, Pietro ! 

Others. Hear him ! 

The Monk. This is treason. 

A priest, I cannot hear my sovereign slander'd ! 
One word more, I denounce you ! 

The President. Friends, attend ! 

Silence I 

Vicenzo, venerable brother, 
Methlnks I heard thy harp. Its youthful strings 
Sound to me through the music of those years. 
Those threescore years, since first we play'd to- 
gether, 
As the dear voice of a beloved girl, 
In virgin throng of louder choristers. 
While all the troop contend betbre the ear, 
Passeth alone and free to the hid heart. 
Dreaming of youth doth make me young again ! 
Friend, thou hast been a man of grief, and though 
My dream of thy first music be a dream, 
Thy sounds to-day are sweeter. Such a touch 
Hath gracious wisdom. The great harmony 
Of a most sad sweet life hath been plav'd out 
Upon those strings, and sympathetic chords 
Repeat it. Holy brother, there are some 
In this good company who know thee not. 
Forego the privilege of years, and lift, 
A moment, all the mantle from thine heart. 



THE ROMAN. 289 

Our eyes are blind with noonday, and our brows 
Ache with the tropics. Let us with chaste awe 
Stand in the mellow evening of thy voice, 
Before the old man's soul — the rayless sun 
Seen throuf^h the mist of sorrows. 

Thanks, dear brother, 
That strain replies. I hear it, like a chime 
To vespers. 

Vicenzo. Friend, why is thy speech of " broth- 
ers ? " 
My brother died. I heard last night, in the dark, 
How the first Christians spake to one who went 
Where I shall soon behold him. 

Some. Good Vicenzo ! 

Others. Hear I 

Others. Hear Vicenzo. 

Vicenzo. Clamorous sirs, you are wise. 

Give your praise now. You will need all your 

silence 
When I have sung. The men of whom I speak 
Lived by the prime tradition, ere the hands 
Of ages soil'd it, or the guilt that shrunk 
Before that bare intolerable witness 
Bound it in gems and purple. Sirs, my lay 
Is simple as their faith. 

[Ha sings. 

Brother, there is a vacant spot within our holy 
band, 
And poorer is our earthly lot by one strong heart 

and hand. 
Yet, brother, it were ill to weep, when life hath 

been so drear. 
That we are left alone to keep its painful vigil here. 
'T were ill if thou hast trod the way to count the 

labouring hours, 
Or mourn that sorrow fill'd thy cup with hastier 

hand than ours. 
Sleep softly by thy bending tree, till death's long 
sleep be o'er, 
19 



2D0 TllK ROIVIAN. 

That thou canst not remember, we remember thee 

the more. 
Sleep softly, — that thine heart hath pass'd through 

all death's deep distress, 
To such calm rest as now thou hast, shall make us 

dread it less. 
Sleep softly, brother, sleep. But, oh, if there are 

hopes more blest 
Than sleep, where seasons come and go about a 

dreamless rest ; 
If we may deem this grave a shrine which summer 

rites observe, 
Where autumn pours the votive wine, and white- 
robed winters serve ; 
If we may think that those who now sit side by 

side with God, 
Have sent for thee to ask thee how we tread the 

path they trod ; 
Oh, brother, if it be not sin when God hath broke 

the chain 
Of earthly thought, to bind thee in its fever'd links 

again, 
This much of all that earth did know, and all that 

life hath given, 
The sadness of our love below bequeathes thy bliss 

in heaven ; 
Remember what the bounden bear, though thou 

for aye art free, 
And speak of us as kindly there, as here we think 

of thee. 
The Monk. " Remember what the bounden 
bear ! " Old man, 
We cannot sing this song. There may be lands 
Where chains are heavy. Here in Italy 
We wear them as the draught-ox wears his bells — 
One. Priest ! 

The Monk. Hark that martial sti-ain ! Ye Gods, 
do all 
Dead tongues cry out at once ? 



THE KOMAiS*. 291 

A Minstrel. You Romans ! see 

The vision of Quirinus ! 

d'The Monk. Ha, ha, lia ! 

The Minstrel (sings). AVho shall say what 
thoughts of glory life's mean paths unhon- 
our'd tread, 

Like those rays of distant suns, that pass us, view- 
less, overhead ? 

For the heaviest heart that sleepeth hath its heavy 
sleeping dream, 

Like the dull light on the ripple of a duller twi- 
light stream ; 

But, oh poet, if the dullard hath a soul beyond thy 
ken. 

Who shall paint the hero's vision, who among the 
sons of men ? 

Who shall paint him, wrapt and lonely, when the 
god within him speaks, 

And the passing skirts of Fate smite the blood into 
his cheeks ; 

When the future on the ocean of his great soul 
hangs like night. 

And some hull of thought comes ploughing all its 
midseas into light ? 

Who shall paint him leaning on the Present, stand- 
ing on the Past, 

Gazing o'er the furthest Future deep into the 
stormy Last ; 

Gazing where on the remotest verge the nether 
mists are riven, — 

A giant with an oak-tree staff, looking from sea- 
sands to heaven? \_Interlude of music. 

One dull day of indolence, the new-thatch'd city 
being all built. 

On his sheath'd sword bent Quirinus, with his hand 
upon the hilt. 

Round the sun's hid place on high all the stolid 
heaven was dead, 



2!)2 THE ROMAN. 

All the flat-floor'd earth below him look'd a temple 

domed with lead ; 
Not a voice from all the forests ! not a beam from 

all the floods ! 
Sadder tor that early autumn, like cold sunshine, 

lit the woods. 
Far, the arms of Latian hills held on high a city of 

power ; 
With the eye of lust Quirinus burnt its beauties 

tower by tower, 
Till the conscious Latian hills, jealous of the con- 
queror's mien. 
Proudly drew the mists of morning, decent, round 

the ravish'd scene. 
Waking from the imperial dream, said Quirinus, 

lookinu towards Rome, 
" So the mist of time descending hides me from the 

years to come ! " 
Near, below, a rushing torrent its long dance of 

beauty led. 
And a forest-beast of grandeur cross'd it with a 

stately tread ; 
Golden ran the rapid river gleaming though the 

skies were cold, 
Far into the Sabine distance, mantling with its 

sands of gold. 
Said Quirinus, sad, but proudly, gazing with a look 

sublime, 
" Gods ! so fording life, would 1 send golden sands 

down streams of time ! " 
He look'd up to heaven, and he look'd down upon 

the river strand : 
Smiling through the crystal water, shining lay the 

untroubled sand. 
Said Quirinus, proud, but sadly, gazing upon frith 

and firth, 
" Gods ! so shall the tide of ages rase my footsteps 

from the earth ! " 



THE ROMAN. 293 

Sat the sun in his pavilion ; the dark drapery, stern 

and even, 
Hanging earthward. Before noon the west winds 

dancing- thiough high heaven, 
Fill'd with sudden mirth, drew back the giant folds 

with hands profane ; 
Pleased he saw the earth, and like a young hot 

prince began to reign. 
All this while Quirinus bent heroic eyes that could 

not weep, 
On a tear of dew that lay dull amid the grass 

asleep ; 
Even while he gazed a sunbeam, slanting from its 

radiant path. 
Dipt into the dew, and came forth like a goddess 

from the bath. 
Then Quirinus — " That such lot were mine, ye 

arbiters afar ! 
Gods ! ye touch the sleeping water and it wakens 

to a star ! " 
While he looks the sun is higher, while he looks 

the star grows old. 
While he looks, the dews are lying, as the dews lie, 

dead and cold. 
Then Quirinus — all the hero looking sadness while 

he said, 
" Gods ! so shall the sun of glory one day leave 

me cold and dead ! " 
Then he gazed, as heroes gaze, upon whom, — 

conscious, — earth and skies 
Seem gazing back. To their live silence all his 

living soul replies, 
" Thou who knovvest me, whom thus I know, — 

Eternal as thou art, 
Oh thou visible ! how is it with me in thy silent 

heart ? " 
Then the rock beside him crumbled in the noon- 
heat stone by stone, 
'• Gods ! the very earth may rot ere a fame like 

mine be grown ! " 



294 THE ROMAN. 

Then a salt wind — like a sea-ghost sick of land — 

faint voices bore, 
" Gods ! but once to hear the ages booming on the 

future shore ! " 
Then he look'd the sun in the face, like an eagle 

in his death-sorrow. 
" Gods ! tlie very stars themselves are nearer to us 

than to-morrow ! " 
Then in rapture, all the godhead of his line about 

his brow — 
" Mother ! Dionaean Mother I that the years to 

come were jww ! " 
Soft Idalian incense laid him languid on the amo- 
rous sod. 
At the softest a great thunder shook the mountain 

like a god. 
Starting from the Paphian trance, the hero leap'd 

in the sunlight, 
All his sudden soul o'erlooking the dull sense of 

mortal sight ; 
Staring, staring in the air, high over the Roman 

town. 
Staring, staring pale and deadly where the future 

years came down. 

Dost thou see them, as I see them, like a great mist 

sinking slow. 
With the unborn dead o'er-pictured, and the things 

that shall be ? Lo, 
Woes that throw no shade on joy; joys that shed 

no light on woe, 
Flush'd with being yet to be, full of soul that makes 

no sign, 
Tarquin chaste beside Lucretia, Tullius mute by 

Catiline. 

Dost thou see them, as I see them, like a haze upon 

the sky. 
Painted with dumb agonies, and woes that neither 

strive nor cry ; 



THE ROMAN. 295 

Spell- bound victors unpursuing, routed hosts that 
do not fly ; 

Lifeless in the form of life, with ineffectual gran- 
deur great, 

As the foemen. Good and 111, twin-slumber in the 
womb of Fate ? 

Dost thou see them, as I see them, dread as when 

the demon of rain 
From cloudland verge shakes out a veil of storms 

across the lower plain ? 
Dost thou see them, wider, wider, from the moun- 
tains to the main, 
Peopling, peopling either heaven, till troubled with 

the infinite sight, 
Both horizons flush'd at once attest them in dis- 

temper'd light ? 

I Interlude of music. 
Jt 
Dost thou see them, as I see them, like a great mist 

sinking slow, 
From the everlasting height, floating in celestial 

show, 
Silent vast, like heaven unroll'd, to the eternal hills 

below ? 

Lo ! they touch the earth. Ye Gods ! are mine 

eye-balls crazed with wine ? 
Shock of life, like midnight lightning, shouts along 
biJii the leaping line. 

Lo ! the children of the ages on the fields of fame 
as" beneath, 
Each in clamour springs from sleep as one day he 
shall spring from death. 

Gods ! that cry of startled being ! Gods ! that din 

of life sublime, 
Each convulsive form begins the many-colour'd 
■le-. work of time. 



296 THE ROMAN. 

Each in agony of action flashes through his frenzied 
part, 

As in deadly moments years of life gleam through 
the heaving heart, 

Gods ! 1 shall go wild with sight ! Whirling arms 
and lambent eyes, 

Raging, clash in sounds that mock the sadder surge 
of shrieks and sighs ; 

Each assumes the sudden future, each in turn de- 
fied defies, 

Stream in air the Sabine tresses, Brutus strikes and 
Caesar dies ! 

So some host of rayless meteors smite our nir, and 
mad with might. 

Burst in storms of stars, and charge in flaming le- 
gions through the night. 

All this while Quirinus stood, wrapt as the Python, 
grand as Jove, 

His face a microcosm, wherein the passions of the 
ages strove. 

Downward, downward, solemn and slow, the dreamy 
pageant dim descends, 

A man's height upward life, — no more. In heaven 
the dead, on earth the fiends. 

Downward, downward, till the valley, line uncon- 
scious line succeeds, 

Mingling yet a moment lifeless with the life that 
strives and bleeds. 

See the insatiate plain engulf! See the still renew'd 
array. 

Touching earth, explode with life, and hurtling 
sink out of the day. 

Gods ! the tapestries of heaven o'erwrought with 
fate, majestic, fell. 

And burnt upon the earth, and dropt their flaming 
fragments into hell ! 

See on high incessant hosts, to where the heavenly 
vistas close, 

And the very height of heights with a higher ad- 
vent glows, 



THE ROMAN. 297 

Dyed with change : as I have seen when wild me- 
ridian moons are bright, 

Stormy dreams of rainbows colour all the troubled 
soul of night. 

See below exhaustless life — hark the still-renewing 
roar 

Of successive being kindling from the mountains to 
the shore ! 

Tumult as of full-grown nations starting into crash- 
ing birth ; 

Tumult, tumult, wide as heaven, wild along the 
rocking earth ; 

Tumult, tumult, from the dizzy maddening mounts' 
distracted crowd. 

Pealing out till both horizons own it like a bloody 
cloud ! 

With such flame and thunder, in the Gallic mad- 
man's vision dark. 

So the ordnance of the world, drawn up, might 
hail the Omniarch ! 

All this while Quirinus stood, gazing with a wilder 
gaze. 

Heaving with a Delphic fury, shouting to the com- 
ing days ! 

Warm'd into the gait of time, he springs before the 
march of things, 

Imperial with an age of empire, royal with a world 
of kings ! 

Stand, Quirinus ! Hold thine own ! Reel not, 
giant drunk with power! 

Did no demigod come down to stay thee in that 
desperate hour, 

When Fortune blew her loudest blast, and, mind- 
ful of the ills in store, 

Play'd a flourish ere she changed her awful stop for 
evermore ; 

And Rome, upon the hill of fame, above whose 
height the thunderer nods, 

Culminated like a globe, and paused before the 
gasping gods, 



298 TMK ROM AX. 

Awhile in dreadful poise. One moment suns smiled 

on it dark and cold, 
And lit a star. It shone. And then (like that tre- 
mendous stone of old) 
Recoiling to infernal depths shook heaven, down- 

whirlino- as it fell, 
Thiough red storms of molten glories lash'd up 

from the soil of hell ! 
How shalt thou behold that hour V for ah ! the gen- 
erous and the brave 
Spring upon the surge of fate, but ebb not with 

the ebbing wave. 
In that hour the Dionsean caught him up to heaven ; 

that he 
Beholding as a god beholdeth, seeing, might survive 
to see ! 
The Monk (stepping forward). Ye spell-bound 
men, 
Who stand and stare each other in the face 
As though it were an auspice, do you dare 
Behold on earth what your translated Sire 
Saw from the heavens? Didst thou not even there, 
Oh hero ! with thy strong humanities 
Startle the impassive gods ; with mortal cries 
Stir the still air of immortality, 
And with thine earthly faculty of tears 
Distain the empyrean ? 

[Silence. They whisper amouf/ themselves. 
President. Sir, and brother, 

Show us this vision. 

The Monk. Doth the heart speak there ? 

Wot you there have been sights ere now which 

turn'd 
The seer into stone ? There have been words 
Which made graves tenantless, and hunt the dead 
Shrieking through hell. There have been tongues 

that smo^e 
The lazy air wherein the gnat did dance. 
And it hath dropp'd down molten on a soul, 



THE ROMAN. 299 

And branded it for ever. You know this. 
And you will hear ? 

A Shout. And we will hear ! 

The Monk. Your blood 

Be on your heads ! 

A Shout. Be on our heads and thine ! 

The Mo?iL And mine. If ye be brothers, I 
shall die 
With you, and if not, by you. Death is death. 

[He is silent. 

The President {after awhile). My brother, we 

attend thee. 
The Monk. You will hear me ? 

You will behold ? I do beseech that man 
Who owns a faint heart, friends, to bear it forth 
Beyond your patriot circle ; half a bowshot 
Will save him. I shall speak low. By the gods, 
It should be sung in whispers. 

What ! not one ? 
What ! you draw nearer V Be not rash, ray brothers. 
Those Cretan mazes that outlie the heart 
Can no man tread so swiftly. I shall pause. 

[He is silent — then continues. 

It is a fearful thing to stand in the path 
Of destiny. Here on this bridge am I, 
And you, poor souls, upon the fateful bank 
Roam up and down, and cast your wistful eyes 
To the Cimmerian shores, whose twilight reign 
Your sense, acclimated to Acheron, 
Mistakes for day. I hold ye back, poor shades. 
And with a right hand blister'd with the flames, 
Point to a way of fire. You cannot see 
The Elysian fields beyond it, and what god 
Commands you to believe me ? 

My poor brothers, 
Pass. 

Some. This is madness ! 

Some. Hush ! behold him. 

Others. Wake, 

Dreamer ! 



300 THE ROMAN. 

The Monk. I can see nothing in the heaven 
Or earth why next year should be worse than this ; 
I do not learn from any siirn in the sky 
That you shall dance less lightly at the fair, 
Or drink your pottle weaker at the wake, 
Or find the wench less willing at the wedding, 
Or sing less often in the castle hall, 
Or think the rich man's nod a poorer fee, 
Or sit less thankful at the menial's fare. 
Or rear one chubby slave the less or more. 
Or share their mother on worse usury 
With yonder German — 

Some. Shame — 

Others. Hold ! 

Others. Are we clowns? 

Others. Peace. Hear him out — hear the priest 
out. Down with him. 
Hear him. Hear, hear, hear, hear him out. Down 
with him. 

The Mo7}k. 'T is a hard fate. As yet you are not 
guilty ; 
As yet the dull Maremma of the future 
From the mephitic stagnance of the past 
Stretches as unforbidden. But hear me. 
And the P^gyptian curse turns it to blood ! 
Yet you might tread it — with the march of life 
Stir the pestiferous slime of days, till weak 
Or sturdy vitals, soon or late, drop each 
In his appointed hole. Why should I speak ? 
Friends, 't is a fearful time. As yet your eyes 
Have not been open'd to know good from evil. 
The dread of the great hour before the fall 
Gathers upon my soul. Now must I do 
The miracle which paints the universe. 
You stand before me here all men, all brothers, 
And I must give you sight. And, seeing, he 
Who is not straight transfigured to a saint, 
Must blacken to a fiend. This is that water 
That rots the adulteress — dare ve drink ? 



THE ROMAN. 301 

Some. Now mercy ! 

Others. Aye, aye, aye, to the dregs. 

Others. Pour, priest, pour, pour. 

One. S'death ! do you raock us ? Speak ! 

The Monk. I pray you, patience, 

I pray you, patience. These are times, my brothers, 
When the grand Roman habit is a dress 
For no man's masquerade. \_They continue to 

shout']. Beseech yon, patience. 
Patience, sweet friends ! The cap oMiberty 
Is not a carnival wear. There are laws, friends, — 
You have not read them — they are writ in 

German, 
But they are laws. And by the laws the blush 
Of shame is disaffected and forbidden. 
The proud tears of a patriot are not loyal. 
The thoughts of good men are against the statute; 
Who would speak like a freeman must content him 
To walk a chain or two more like a slave. 
I break no laws. I tell you by the laws 
To inherit from your sires is robbery, 
To think what you are thinking is rebellion, 
To take the counsel of the brave is treason, 
To strike a despot on his throne is death. 
I do entreat you, friends, obey the laws ! 
If you were heroes I must hold my peace. 
I should have sinn'd already. By the laws 
You should not see this sight if you were heroes ; 
But slaves ! behold ! 

The Monh sings. 

Some sad slow strain — 

Deep wails and plaintive pain, 
With thy most sorrowy soul, my harp, remember ! 

Hie where in some lone spot. 

By the cold hearth of a forsaken cot, 
A dying orphan cowers by the last ember ! 

To some unseen green space 
Of a deserted place, 



302 THE ROMAN. 

Where the pale grass and the lorn flowers are hoi}' ; 

And of remorseless wrong, 

In mournful fjusts and long, 
Winds cry at eve, where the betray'd lies lowly : 

And with them, as they float — 

The wail and the wind note — 
Thy woes most sweet bewilderments entwine, 

And, harp ! thou hast not found 

One desolate sad sound 
That does not ring like laughter on a grief like mine. 

My harp ! how oft, when cold 

And worn with cares untold, 
With hearts untrue, stern looks, and sunless brows, 

Thy first sweet breath that stole 

Stirr'd incense in my soul, 
Like the south wind among the myrtle boughs. 

But there are in our lot 

Thoughts where earth's sounds come not — 
Like the eternal calm of the mid-seas — 

And all that might have been 

And all that is, — oh Queen 
Of minstrelsy, thou hast no voice for these. 

I hear, soul-wrapt, thy song 

In stirring notes and strong, 
High wandering in the years for ever flown ; 

To ray exulting sight 

The gorgeous Past comes bright ! 
In the broad earth too poor for her renown, 

Italia great and wise. 

Sits, and to golden skies 
Lifts the grand brow which clouds contend to 
crown. 

But, oh ! if in that hour 

Of calm unchallenged power, 



THE HUMAN. iiOS 

Some vision of prescient tate supreme 

Forewarn her in raid-pride 

Of all that must betide, 
Who, who may sing the anguish of that dream ? 

Thy straining strings should start 

As breaks her bursting heart, 
And all thy broken chords confess the unconquer'd 
theme ! 

Return, my harp, return 
Beside this broken urn, 
Count the long days low lying where it lies 
Have all thy wandering will ! 
With fitful fancies fill 



Long interludes of 



With sweeping blasts and strange unearthly cries. 

Swift laughter, hurrying fears, 

Madness, and joys, and tears, 
And every mood that wayward wildness tries. 

These are the winged years ! 
They pass. And where is she whose greatness 
claims the skies ? 

Behold her ! wan and fair, 

Her pale arm soil'd and bare. 
That trembles in the intolerable chain — 

Behold the woes that rise 

To her undying eyes. 
Too proud to faint and too imperial to complain ; 

Behold her bend and grieve 

From shameful morn to eve. 
And till, with captive hands, the graves that hide 
her Slain ! 

Behold the toil that lives 
And strives, and sinks and strives ! 
Her outraged looks to every heaven addrest I 
Her pride, grown fierce by fate. 
Her mien deject and great. 



304 THK ROMAN. 

Pier violated bosom's wild unrest ; 

Behold her — travail-torn — - 

Endured but still unborne 
Behold what fetters load her queenly breast. 

Behold the glittering cares 

Her brow, in mockery, wears, 
The crowns of thorn and tinsel, tear-empearl'd ; 

Hark the unwonted names 

That consummate her shames ! 
Thev dare not call her Rome — no, not down 
hurl'd 

And chain'd ! — lest at the sound 

Each Vandal bond they bound 
Fall from her and confess the empress of the 
world ! 

Thus with untiring plaint 

How oft thy fancies paint 
Each changing mood of her unchanging woe. 

Before my sadden'd eyes 

Obedient dolours rise, 
A thousand subject passions pale and glow ! 

And each new wrong she bears 

Thou actest in mine ears. 
And ill complains to ill, and blow resounds to blow ! 

But what shall paint the power 

Of that disastrous hour, 
When coarse oppression struck with ruder hand, 

And, at some worst disgrace, 

She raised her bleeding face, 
And saw with folded arms her sons consenting 
stand ? 

My harp ! at that last gaze 
Her eyes, dishonoured, raise, 
Thou, with Timanthean woe grown utterless, 
Changing the unequal key 



THE ROMAN. oOO 

Of slaves that might be free, 
But rot and smile in unavenged duresse, 

Thy descant of disdain 

Loud liftest, till our pain 
Shows us the shade of her ineffable distress. 

Then the mists are breaking ! 

Then our hearts are waking ! 
We call her " mother ! " and she answers ! Then 

The blood that won these plains 

Boils in our modern veins, 
Years are unlived ! Italia ! once again, 

Where thy proud eagles shine 

All Roman, and all thine, 
We rise and — bah ! I dream'd that we were men ! 
\^Great confusion and outcry; in the midst of which the 
Monk disappears. 



SCENE viir. 

A Dungeon. 

The Monk, Vittorio Santo, and a few of his chosen fol- 
lowers {among them the '■'■Mother'''' of Scene VI.) who 
are admitted to see him for the last time. They are con- 
versing. His trial, hy Austrian Court-martial, takes place 
at day-break. 

The Monk. I grant you there must be for every 
man 
Some hill, plain, valley, or familiar tree, 
Beside whose sweetness his young soul beholding, 
Grew till the invisible within put on 
The outward beauty. As your Roman mothers 
Conceiving gazed upon their marble gods, 
And brought forth sons like them. But if these 

homesteads 
Contain that wealth of utterless aff'eetions, 
Hopes, fears, traditions, duties, memories, 
20 



iJ06 THE ROMAN. 

Inborn respects, instincts of good and evil, 
That creature faith, that visible religion, 
Which my soul utters when I say " My country," 
Then the best sight makes the best citizen. 
The horizon of our rights shuts in with age, 
Each day of weeping leaves us less to weep for, 
Infirmity makes outlaws, and the blind 
Are aliens everywhere. 

A Youth. Beloved master, 

For thus — sublime in the near neighbourhood 
Of death — I must behold thee, even as men 
On hill-tops seen against the heaven beyond 
Seem giants — 

The Monk. Friend, forbear. Who made me 
ruler 
And judge among you — or who gave thee licence 
To be a slave ? Beloved, thou art young : the 

time 
May come when thou shalt tremble to create 
Or to depose a master. In dominion — 
The universal idol — the world worships 
The unknown God. Sometimes in these last hours 
I have had visions of a more divine 
Iconoclast, who shall demand, " Will God 
Be worshipp'd in the noblest image ? " Let 
That pass. I feel it has not pass'd for ever. 
Meanwhile learn this. Drawing near authority 
To make or to unmake — Man, put thy shoes 
From off thy feet, for the place where thou standest 
Is holy ground. 

A Friend. Who then shall dare rebel ? 

The Monk. Well ask'd, brave patriot, where is 
that blasphemer 
Who dares rebel ? Let us obey. But, Roman, 
Shall we obey the living or the dead ? 
" The powers that be ! " By what sign will ye 

know 
The powers, that be ? My friends, we are the 
fools 



THE ROMAN. 307 

Of eyesight and the earthly habitudes 

Which cannot look aloft. Walking the plank 

Of life o'er the abyss, we fear to glance 

Or upward to the stars, or downward to the grave. 

Our souls, yoke-strain'd, in attitude of toil 

Bend earthward. Oft the wnworshipp'd angel 

passeth 
While we, with eyes fix'd on the ground from 

which 
We came, adore his footsteps in the sand. 
And God, this while, is in the heaven of heavens ! 
Stand ! Christian ! thou who hastest towards a 

throne 
By that old pathway which our fathers wore 
When a king sat there. Traitor ! yon blood-stain'd 
Mad sans-culotte, whose godless feet are rattling 
Amojig kings' bones, — yon vulture of the nations, 
Yelling instinctive through the fateful air 
To deathstruck dynasties, — yon maniac serf 
Ringing his broken chains, and piling, wild 
With freedom, hills of courtly slain to reach 
The throned effigy to which thou kneelest, 
And strew the imperial tatters to the wind — 
That outlaw is no rebel ! What art thou 
Who bendest to the empty rags which once 
Enrobed dominion, and with stiff' knee passest 
That uncrown'd presence, unbegilt, unfeather'd. 
Naked and full of God, whose step disturbs 
The centre of the world ? 

Friends ! Gessler's hat 
Two centuries hence had more divinity 
Than any crown to-day. Is aught on earth 
Eternal V Man has rights ; but is a corpse 
A man ? Doth the heir rob the dead ? The 

stars 
Themselves burn out. Spring, summer, autumn, 

winter. 
Each traitor to the past, and each in turn 
To its own season loyal. Are these things 



308 THE KOMAN. 

Dumb ? Look on high. That which you call re- 
hellion 
Is but the changed obedience which we pay 
To changing dispensations. The true rebel 
Is he who worships for the powers that are 
Powers that are not. 

{Enter a Jailor, secretly disposed to favour the Monk.) 

Jailor. The hour, most reverend Sir, 

Of which you bade me warn you struck but now. 
One more is all the grace I dare. Even that 
Discover'd, would be bought with all my own. 
The Monk. Good friend, we thank thee. Did 
we not know, jailor, 
That the time cometh when to have done this ser- 
vice 
To these and me this night shall more avail thee 
Than an imperial signet, Ave Avould speak ' 

Of recompence. Yet wear this, [^taking a ring 

from his finger,^ and forget not 
When it was given and why. Enough. We count 
The moments. 

Gentle Romans, when ye enter 
The land of milk and honey, recollect 
That God spared Rahab. The great day of reck- 
oning 
Is not so far hence that ye shall forget 
Vittorio Santo's keeper. 

A Friend. Show me why 

It does not dawn to-morrow. 'T may suit well 
Thy monk's disguise to draw the sword of the 

Spirit, 
And wrestle not with flesh and blood, but hath 
Rome one arm only ? How shall he whose tongue 
Fate hung awry be eloquent ? My comrades, 
Thus ! [ With a gesture.^ In truth, Santo, my right 

worthy friend, 
Methinks thou hast even offer'd up thyself 
And thy good cause on a cold altar — 



THK ROMAN. .S09 

The Monk. So 

Did Abel. 

The Frievd. Yes, 'tis well, 'tis very well, 
Noble no doubt and wondrous heavenly, but — 

An elder Friend. Peace, stripling ! Friend 
revered, thou hast wrought out 
Thy chosen path to freedom. It ends here. 
{.The Monk {pointing up). There. I am no such 

royal guest, dear Cosmo, 
But I can stand a moment at the gate. 

Cosmo. We, reverent of thy martyr zeal, but 
hearing 
A voice which calls us by a shorter road 
To be cut out by hands, ask if the sword 
That patriot draws be guilty ? 

The Monk. When the Baptist 

Call'd to repentance, did he weigh the dust 
And measure out the sackcloth ? Let a prophet 
Wait upon silence. Who can hold his peace 
Hath said his message. Things that once have 

dwelt 
In heaven will make that prison, a man's heart, 
Glad to release them. Let the seer see 
And he will cry. Herein I have not seen. 
The image that for me fills earth and heaven 
Shuts out the shapes beyond. 

A Woman (" The Mother" in Scene VI). Yet, 
father, — oh 
Let me still call thee so ! — are there not hard 
Unripen'd times, when the gold sickle of angels 
Reaps not the harvest — early dawns of truth. 
When we must burn a grosser light than day ? 

The Monk. If the true man were of the world, 
and had 
The sun of his great orbit in its centre, 
And kept the measure of its seasons, then, 
Daughter, thou hadst said well. But he who steps 
Forth from the radiant chambers of the future 
To show us how the unseen ages look ; 



310 THE ROMAN. 

He who comes forth a voluntary hostage 
Of the supreme good-will of times to come ; 
He who grew up among your children's children, 
And calls by name the years you never knew ; 
He who takes counsel of the things that yet 
Are not, and answers with his kindling eyes 
Questions ye cannot hear; he who is set 
Among us pigmies, with a heavenlier stature 
And brighter face than ours, that we must leap 
Even to smite it, — that man, friends, must have 
The self-existence of a god. From him 
The poor necessities, hopes, fears, and fashions 
Of the expedient Present, fall like waves 
From adamant. Friends ! learn a prophet's pa- 
tience. 
Do you remember how, in backward years, 
Night after night the patient harvest-moon 
Climbs her high seat above the silent fields, 
In act to reign '? Bating no majesty 
For her great solitude. Unmann'd, below, 
The golden plenty spreads, unwarn'd of change, 
Ample repose. From corn-crown'd hill to hill. 
From waving slope to slope, where sickly winds 
Disturb'd Hit blind from sudden sleep to sleep, 
From calm auriferous deeps and from the broad 
Pale distance, drowsy in the genial light. 
From all the dull expanse of voiceless plains. 
O'er which, unscarecl, the midnight curlew cries, 
No answering horn salutes her. Smile on, pale, 
Prophetic queen ! Know ere thy wane, thine 

hosts,. 
Thy sounding hosts, shall darken all the vales ! 
Not otherwise the poet and the prophet, 
The patriot and the sage. 

The Youth. This is well said. 

And if we desperate men had calm or leisure 
To seek tlie fruit of knowledge where it hangs 
Through all the fair wide gardens of the soul, 
Doubtless 't were reverend idlesse. But, good Sir, 



THP: ROMAN. 811 

A partisan in war-time must needs carry 
His daily meed of duty in his hand. 
We have no time — we freemen — 

The Monk. Ah, young friend, 

Dost thou too die to-morrow ? 

Gonzcdo (a friend). Noble Sir, 

Forgive him ! 

The Monk. He spake not amiss, Gonzalo, 
A little out of tune, no more. I thank him. 
And if I could dismiss you from this last 
Communion, with no ampler utterance 
Than yet hath pass'd between us ; if I left you 
Here upon earth, and with the clouds above, 
To the dim sayings of the sibylline stars, 
And now, at midnight, gave your tear-blind eyes 
No compass but the landmarks, which serve angels 
Journeying heaven and earth, Rezzio's rebuke 
Flying before would shut against my soul 
The gates of paradise. I have come short 
Of my high calling, friends, but (I thank God) 
Not thus far. The old Castellan, just now. 
Came not unbidden. I desired, my brethren, 
To ask of you, this our last mutual hour, 
A death gift, — if you like it — laid upon 
My funeral pile. Somewhat I had to say. 

A Friend (aside). Son. 

Tlie Son (aside). Father. 

The Friend (aside). Mine own 

chaplain — hasten — 

The Monk (observing them). Marquis, 
Are we such strangers ? Sirs, ye do me wrong. 
What chrysra can hold, what hand of flesh can 

spread 
The unction of a soul ? I bear in me 
The priesthood of a Christian man, and do 
My own death-rites. What sins I have, are writ- 
ten 
On high : and that angelic record needs 
No death-bed supplement. Son ! let us brighten 



812 THE ROMAN. 

This last best hour with thoughts that shining 

through 
To-morrow's tears shall set in our worst cloud 
The bow of promise. In my life, long past, 
There is a passage, friends, which set apart 
From our rich confidence, I have reserved 
As burden for this hour. Ye are just, brethren, 
And will believe me that I dig this dust 
Of personal remembrance as the sands 
Of golden shores. In giving you the wisdom 
Which I received, and now commit to your 
Chaste hands, with prayers, ye may be better 

stewards, 
I wish, if I may speak thus, to transplant. 
Not the fruit only, but the tree whereon 
It grew ; that so they may have life in you, 
Unto a goodlier increase. And for this 
Awful and mystic husbandly I chose 
The climate of the grave. And if, dear friends, 
I stray some moments from my history. 
Through the sideways of sterile circumstance. 
Be gracious to the old man garrulous. 
The old man^ friends. Age is the shadow of death. 
Cast where he standeth in the radiant path 
Of each man's immortality. What age. 
To the dumb infant of eternity. 
Bring threescore years and ten ? Brother Gon- 

zalo. 
Prithee that prison water-jar. My lips 
Are feverish with to-morrow. \_He drinks. 

Wells the spring 
Pure even here ? Oh nature, nature, thou 
Hast done thy part ! Thanks, gentle friends. 

Now soul, 
I turn thee loose among the fields of old. 

[^He pauses. 

Imperial Summer in hot luxury 

Reign'd like a new-crown'd caliph. Heavy Noon, 



THK ROMAX. 313 

(jrolden and dead-asleep, oppressive lay, 

Athwart the sated world. I, book in hand, 

Wander'd since dawn, it was my wont, those fair 

Campanian fields where ancient poets went 

To learn the frarrrance of ambrosial air, 

And every nymph was Hebe — but where now, 

When the serf makes his lair where Romans dwelt, 

Nature, disdainful of the hideous trespass, 

Teaches, retributive, the wasting cheek 

How slaves should look. From early morn to eve 

My feet had roam'd these plains, my heart the 

ages. 
And burden'd with the brightness of the hour, 
I sought the shade which old Vespasian built. 
Those walls which, lest degenerate tongues disturb 
The indignant dead, we call the Coliseum — 
Those wondrous walls which, like the monument 
Of some old city of the plague, stand up 
Mighty in strength and ruin, with no more 
Decay than serves for epitaph, and takes 
Impiety from pride, and breaks the crown 'd 
Pillar of triumph on the conqueror's grave. 
Those walls whose grey infirmities seem only 
The mood of an imperishable face, 
Awful as scars upon a Titan's brow, 
Dread as a strong man's tears. Small marvel, truly, 
With that eternal witness looking on, 
That thou, Campagna ! art for very shame 
True to the days of old ! 

Entering, I sat . 
Refresh'd in shadow, and like some high wizard, 
In wayward hour, call'd with a god's caprice 
Spirits of new and old. In that doom-ring 
Of time, who would not be magician ? Now, 
I sought old chronicles for Nero's house. 
That golden crown that made mount Palatine 
Royal. And those imperial halls wherein 
Csesar is still august. Now, pensive, sitting 
Within the very shade of destiny. 



314 THE ROMAN. 

I saw their ruins strew the hills of Rome. 

And looking forth through rents, by which the 

years 
Pass in and out, I gazed as one should gaze 
Upon some battle-field of the old gods. 
And the Olympian slain lay there, unearth'd, 
With whitening limbs — like bark'd oaks, thunder- 
scar r'd, 
Loading the fearful ground, ghastly and gaunt, 
Tn all the dreadful attitudes of death. 
So sojourning — a pilgrim of the past — 
Kind sleep o'ertook me, travel-worn of soul. 
My eyes, unconscious, closed to scenes without, 
And at a shout I opened them within 
Upon the world of dreams. With strange recoil 
As at a nod, the extended scroll of time 
RoH'd up full fifteen ages. That Honorius 
Who cut the world in two, gave holiday 
To all the pride of Rome. The new arena, 
(For in old Rome three hundred years seera'd 

new,) 
Which great Vespasian, working for all time. 
Built up with Jewish hands, (as he would sweat 
Their immortality into the stone,) 
Teem'd to the parapet. The sun of noon 
Shed golden evening through a silken heaven. 
Fair floating, which for clouds received the incense 
Of all the Arabics. Luxurious art 
Ensnared the unwilling winds, and like toil'd 

eagles, 
Held them through all the hot Italian day, 
Flapping cool pleasures. Ever-falling waters 
Solaced the ear, themselves beheld through fra- 
grance. 
Till the lapp'd sense in soft confusion own'd 
Redolent light. Behind a hedge of gold 
In the elysian field, imperial state 
Purpled the ring. High, high, and higher rose 
The babel tower of heap'd up life, and o'er 



THE ROMAN. 315 

This strange rich arras, rainbow-hued and vast, 
The eternal marble, imminent, look'd down, 
And the cyclopean mass of the huge walls 
Frown'd from the arches. And before their stern 
And monumental grandeur, the up-piled 
Mortality was as this hand beside 
This rock-hewn dungeon. In the midst stand I, 
On that tremendous theatre condemn'd 
To play the last red scene of a short life. 
Lest Caesar yawn. You heavens ! 

While I draw sword 
And do the hideous courtesies of war, 
My senses, quick with fate, learn all the scene, 
And snuff, prescient, on the heavy air 
The perfumed death. My foe, a Spartacus 
In make and weapon, took with careless scorn 
The languid challenge ; and with his flat sword 
Spurn 'd me to action. So have I beheld 
At the unequal pleasure of the winds, 
Some poplar giant — tyrant of the plain — 
Fall foul of some slim cypress. Point to point, 
And blade to blade, and hilt to hilt opposed, 
The glittering mazes of the gleaming glaive 
Coil and recoil. The waxing strife has shrunk 
The earth to standing-ground. The whole wrapt 

being 
Sent hot into the hand, spares not one sense 
Beyond the sword-arm's circle. Into which 
Half-understood, the dreadful seas of clamour 
Thunder their surges. So, meseems, a soul 
Falling through mid-space hears the passing shout 
Of unseen worlds. And now the giant, stung, 
Casts off his sword craft. Striding like a storm, 
Uproots me, hghtening. See my blade fly up 
Like a flung torch ; myself into the dust 
Hurl'd like a spear ; and the goliath folding 
His untask'd arms upon his unbreathed breast, 
Look up without a flush for the well-known 
Signal of doom. Two hundred thousand hands 



SlCi THE ROMAN. 

(iave it. He saw. While the sword rose and fell, 
Up from the podium to the beetling height 
I turn'd one dying look to the mute nation 
Which — stretching neck and nerve with sanguine 

strain 
To catch the bloody joy — through all its legions 
Held such a stifled horrible expectance, 
As if the greed of anguish could not spare 
The groan a sigh might cover. Round the vast 
O'er-peopled hell the terrible haste of death 
Took my mad eyes, and, in the indistinct 
Wild glance, its serried thousands glared on me 
Like one tremendous face. 

Consenting sat 
That day, all that the world most loved, fear'd, 

worshipp'd. 
Sages whose household words, caught up, made 

proverbs 
For far-off nations ; grey proconsuls, warriors 
Whose mere names stood for victory in all 
The tongues of Europe ; senators whose title 
Ennobled kings ; priests of all orders, bishops 
Whose heavenly treasure was not lent, as yet. 
To earthly usury ; great merchants, men 
Who dealt in kingdoms ; ruddy aruspex. 
And pale philosopher, who bent beneath 
The keys of wisdom ; artists, and whatever 
In Rome claimed to be poet ; woman, too, 
And passing fair, — not that mine eye had note 
Of any separate loveliness, or knew, 
More than a sense of exquisite relief, 
A more or loss in hate, an intuition 
That in the living mountain which rose round 
All was not adamant ; a milder mood 
In a most terrible destiny. I saw it, 
As when upon the fretful parapet 
Of some vast cloud that doth engird the west, 
Flush'd and distemper'd with the angry hues 
Of passionate sunset, oft at eve there shineth 



THE KOMAN. 817 

A line of purer light. All these sat there 
Consenting, and with them the purple pride 
To which all these bow'd down ; — and I must die. 
Swept through the silence a great wind of voices, 
" Look to the podium ! " Breaking from the ranks 
A christian priest — I knew him by his habit — 
Cleaves the gold fences, — lion-proof — with more 
Than lion's heart, and, as the sword fell, stands 
'Twixt me and slaughter. Abdiel with such ges- 
ture 
Held Satan off. The rude barbarian, scorning 
The feeble game, flings down his sword. That 

moment 
Methought hell burst, and in a death-trance heard I 
The outcry of the damn'd. The observant host 
Rose like the simultaneous tide when hid 
Volcanos heave the ocean, and a long 
Vast wave engulfs an island. Not the war 
Even of those seas drowning the blasphemies 
Of shrieking sinking cities, storms the ear 
Like what 1 heard. Tremendous rushing life 
Yell'd round the place, and, as the howling vortex 
Belch'd up its sounds, the screaming horrors struck 
The impassive walls, and like caged fiends came 

back 
Convulsed with madness. Then the tempest turns 
Inwards, and with one gust, as at a sign, 
Guts the stone entrails of the awful tower 
In whirlwind of revenge. Like an explosion 
Down hails the hurricane fury. So Vesuvius 
With mountains wrench'd from her own bowels, 

piles 
Shouting the blasted plain. 

Slain, slain and buried 
By the same act, under one terrible heap 
Lay martyr, victor, vanquish'd. Last to die 
I felt the growing weight and heard through all 
The exulting thousands. How the sounds dash'd 
down 



318 THE ROMAN. 

Like stamping furies. Here the vision ends : 
With the death-pang I woke. 

Absolute calm, 
A silence like the silence of the desert, 
Silence beyond repose, lone, lifeless, stagnant, 
Muter than any grave. Silence too dead 
For living tongue to name. Silence more placid 
Than peace or night or death ; (for these are strings 
Unstruck but to be stricken ;) idiot silence. 
Sterile, and blank, and blind. A breathless pause 
In heaven and earth ; held till the moving thought 
Seems turbulence, this human nature grows 
Unseemly on us, our life's common functions 
Impertinent and gross, and conscious cheeks 
Excuse the beating heart with blushes. Silence 
As of a listening world. Such strange defect. 
Such lean and hungry quiet, such keen sense 
Of absence grown effectual, that the ear 
Faints as for breath, and even the very substance 
Of latent sound seems dead. Alas ! for language, 
We sing the healing darkness of sweet night, 
But for Egyptian darkness that was felt 
Have names no blacker. When you speak of 

silence, 
'T is as the sweet content of voiceless woods 
After the nightingale — as the home-genius 
Sole watching by the sleep of happy babes 
With finger at her lip, and shows of stillness, 
Meanwhile the sleeper smileth and the air 
Stirs with dream-music. When / use the word 
Think of some other silence. In that other 
I woke. 

From sound to stillness as when stormy hearts 
In passion break. From tempest to dead calm, 
As when at some strange portent clashing hosts 
Halt in mid-shock. From all to nothingness, 
A soul from chaos shot into the void 
Beyond the universe. 



THE ROMAN. 811) 

In my short rest 
From imminent heights, the dust of slow decay — 
Sands from the glass of time shaken of winds — 
Crumbs from the feast of desolation — strew'd 
My slumbering face upturn'd. The (xorgon Sleep 
Made them a shower of stones. My wondering eyes 
O'er-charged with sense, in shuddering unbelief 
Unclose upon the lone inane expanse 
Of summer turf, from which the mouldering walls 
Shut not the sunshine ; like a green still lake 
Girt by decaying hills. Urging my gaze 
Round the tremendous circle, arch on arch, 
And pile on pile, that tired the travell'd eye, 
I saw the yawning jaws and sightless sockets 
Gape to the heedless air. Like the death's-head 
Of buried empire. And the sun shone through them 
With calm avoidance that left them more dark, 
And pleasured him with some small daisy's face 
Grass-grown. As though even from the carrion of 

gods, 
The instinct of the living universe 
Held heaven and earth aloof. All through the lorn 
Vacuity winds came and went, but stirr'd 
Only the flowers of yesterday. Upstood 
The hoar unconscious walls, bisson and bare. 
Like an old man deaf, blind, and grey, in whom 
The years of old stand in the sun and murmur 
Of childhood and the dead. From parapets 
Where the sky rests, from broken niches — each 
More than Olympus, — for gods dwelt in them, — 
Below from senatorial haunts and seats 
Lmperial, where the everpassing fates 
Wore out the stone, strange hermit birds croak'd 

forth 
Sorrowful sounds, like watchers on the height 
Crying the hours of ruin. When the clouds 
Dress'd every myi'tle on the walls in mourning 
With calm prerogative the eternal pile 
Impassive shone with the unearthly light 



320 THE ROMAN. 

Of immortality. When conquering suns 
Triumph'd in jubilant earth, it stood out dark 
With thoughts of ages : like some mighty captivej'^ 
Upon his deathbed in a christian land, 
And lying, through the chant of Psalm and Creed 
Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his brow, 
And on his lips strange gods. 

Rank weeds and grasses, 
Careless and nodding, grew, and asked no leave, 
Where Romans trembled. Where the wreck was 

saddest ■ 
Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere. 
With conscious mien of place rose tall and still, 
And bent with duty. Like some village children 
Who found a dead king on a battle-field. 
And with decorous care and reverent pity 
Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down 
Grave without tears. At length the giant lay. 
And everywhere he was begirt with years. 
And everywhere the torn and mouldering Past 
Hung with the ivy. For Time, smit with honour 
Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on him, 
That none should mock the dead. 

Oh, Solitude, 
What dost thou here ? Where are those legions ? 

They 
AVere men, not spirits. Where those shouts that 

like 
Wild waves upon a low lee shore, but now 
Lash'd me to death ? Thou Earth, where didst 

thou quake 
When they went down V Was it that shock, oh 

Earth, -^-k 

That left these ruins '? Crying thus, I ponder*d ; 
The subject of my dream. Beside me still 
Lay that old chronicle whence, as from some . , 
Quaint ancient banquet-hall, a gorgeous bevy 
Of gods and men had pass'd forth with my soul 



THK ROMAN. ;i21 

Into sleep's stranger pleasaunce, and thence stray- 
ing 
Wander'd the world. The open page, held wide 
By my stretch'd slumbering arm, interpreted 
The vision. There my waking eyes had closed. 
'T was where Honorius on a high day gives 
Games to great Rome ; and one unfriended priest, 
Telemaehus by name, soul-stricken, leaps 
The circus fences, and in mid-arena 
Stays the unholy combat, and dies there, 
Stoned by the people. When he walk'd through 

Rome 
That morning, no man turned to gaze on him. 
He had no friend, no mistress, no disciple, 
No power, fame, fortune, wealth, or human cunning, 
And hath no record upon earth but this, 
That he died there. Yet those walls where he 

sutfer'd — 
Those great imperial monumental walls 
Built to feast nations in for ever — stand 
From that day tenantless. In that man's blood 
Baptized to ruin. Then my heart cried out, 
Herein, oh prophet, learn a prophet's duty ! 
For this cause is he born, and for this cause, 
For this cause comes he to the world — io bear 
Witness. Oh God-ordain'd ! thine hands are God's ! 
Sully them not. The days shall come when men 
Who would be angels shall look back to see 
What thou wert. Live for them. Speak, speak 

thy message ; 
The world runs post for thee. The good by nature, 
The bad by fate ; — whom the avenging gods 
Having condemn'd have first demented. Know 
By virtue of that madness they are thine. 
Lay-brothers working where the sanctity 
Of thine high office comes not. Savage friends 
Who, scattering in their wrath thy beacon, light 
The fire that clears the wilderness. Unconscious 
Disciples, writing up the martvr's title 
•2] 



322 THE ROMAN. 

In Hebrew, Greek, and Latin on his cross. 

Love him who loves thee ; his sweet love hath 

bouirht 
A place in heaven. But love him more who hates, 
For he dares hell to serve thee. Pray for him 
Who hears thee gladly ; it shall be remember'd 
On high. But, martyr ! count thy debt the greater 
To the revilor; lie hath bought thy triumph 
With his OM'u soul. In all thy toils forget not 
That whoso sheddeth his life's blood for thee 
Is a good lover ; but thy great apostle, 
Thy ministering spirit, thy spell-bound 
World-working giant, thy head hierophant 
And everlasting high priest, is that sinner 
Who sheds thine own. 

A Friend. Alas ! 

Another. 'T is a hard saying, 

Who can hear it ? 



SCENE IX. 

The Trial. 

An Austrian Court-martial. A number of Officers as Judges. 
An empty chair /or the President, icho enters during the 
proceedings. A subordinate Officer prosecutes. Various 
Witnesses. A great crowd of Auditors. The Monk stands 
in the midst with an abstracted air, murmuring to himself. 

Prosecutor. The court has heard the minstrel, 
Henri de Jaloux ; the most reverend father, 
Ghiotto Ingordo ; and the rustic crowd 
Brought under guard from Milan, 

Noble Sirs, 
Will 't please you listen to an aged witness, 
A simple man, but qf a good report, 
And grey in loyalty, podardo Golfo, 
Stand forth ! Now worthy Qoffo, of what crime 



THE KOMAN. 323 

A Judge. Speak, old man ! 

Old Goffo. So please you, I was working in the 
fields ; 
I serve my lord our bishop — and our bull. 
Mad with the fly — for, an it please your worships, 
Since I drove plough, which will be thirty year 
Come Martinmas, for an it please your worships. 
My lord the bishop's land — not that I say it 
For any ill-will to my lord the bishop — 
But so it is — your worships please to ask 
Giacchimo, — young Giacchimo — (poor old Giacch, 
We wore him out.) Your worships, 't is no use 
Denying it. But as I say, our bull 
Curst with the midge — 

Prosecutor. Speak to the case, old man, 

You see the prisoner ! 

Old Goffo. Aye, Sir, aye. Our bull, 

Bit like a loach — 

A Judge. Wake up, thou prating loon. 

Or have thine ears slit ! To the case, I say, 
And leave this babble ! 

Old Goffo. Good, your worships, yes. 

Where was I, please your worships V Aye. Our 
bull- 
ed Judge. Silence ! 

Another Judge. Nay, Colonel, let him on. Well, 
sirrah ! 

Old Goffo. Our bull, your worship — I am sev- 
enty year 
And more, but let me see the beast, your worship. 
That throws me, bull or cow, with a fair odds. 
But, as I say, our Lammas calf — a better 
Never suck'd dam — 't was eight weeks old that day. 
Had took the murrain — as it might be here 
I made a shift — my poor old back, your worships ! 
And knelt to feed it ; when up comes our bull, 
And down I am. Not that I think, your worships, — 

A Judge. Babbling old man, hear me. Answer 
me shortlv 



324 THE ROMAN. 

What I shall ask thee. Jailor, heat thine irons, 
And burn his tongue out if he fails. Now, sirrah^ 
What of this man ? 

Old Gojfo. Please you, my lord, he came — 

Not that I ever saw him till that hour — 
My lord, I am a poor old man, my lords, 
I am a very poor old man — the bishop — 

A Judge. Silence ! the prisoner saved you ? Is 
it so ? 

Old Goffo. Please you, my lord, he did, my 
lord — 

A Judge. And you V 

Old Goffo. My lords, it was the only piece I 
had — 
By all the saints ! — nay, pray, your worships, mercy, 
A poor old man ! I meant to pay it back — 
My lord the bishop's steward that same day, 
Says he. Go buy — 

A Judge. Enough ! you gave the prisoner 

A coin — and why ? 

Old Gojfo. An offering, please your worships, 
An old man's life is sweet — I swear, my lords, 
Only an otfering — nay — 

Another Judge. Piously done ! 

Speak up, good man ! The prisoner took it ? 

Old Gojfo. _ ^ Ah, 

Sirs, that an honest man who served his bishop 
Good sixty year — nay, I might say, your wor- 
ships. 
Sixty and one : at Martinmas — I mind it 
Well — I was hired. My mother — rest her soul, 
She was a mother, sirs, — she says — says she — 

A Judge. Jailor, your irons I 

Old Goffo. Mercy, oh, my lords, 

I will speak — mercy, oh, my lords — 

A Judge. Hear me. 

Say yes or no. The prisoner kept your coin ? 

Old Goffo. No, please my lord. 

A Judge. No, sirrah ? How ? 



THE KOMAN. 325 

Old Goffo. Nay, mercy ! 

My lords, I will tell all. 

Judge. Peace, fool, say on. 

Old Goffo. Please you, he flung it on the ground, 
and stamp'd it 
Like any ram — my lords — as I stand here, — 
And said — 

Judge. Ay, tell us what he said. 

Old Goffo. My lords, 

I am a very feeble poor old man, 
I pray your worships mercy — on my knees — 
My lords — my youngest girl left one small child, 
For pity's sake, my lords, remember it, — 
My youngest daughter, please your worships, — she 
Left him to me — for pity's sake, my lords, 
My lords, for pity's sake ! 

A Judge. Is there none here 

Who will interpret this strange witness ? 

Prosecutor. Sir, 

The poor half-witted dotard fears to be 
Confounded with his benefactor. I, 
Marshalling the evidence, heard this from him, 
That when the prisoner saw the superscription 
And image of my lord the duke, he spurn'd 
The money, and declared that masses bought 
With king-stamp'd price purchased the soul for 

hell. 
With sundry other ravings, treating of 
Rome and Republics. 

A Judge. Is this so ? 

Old Goffo. My lords, 

'T is very true. 

President (who enters). Eh — eh — Avhy this is 
treason. 
Treason — eh — said he so ? — honest old man. 
Speak on' — he told thee — eh — yes, yes, he told 

thee 
All kinds of things — eh — yes — to slay the bishop, 
Speak out — fear not — to slay the bishop — eh ? — 



326 THE ROMAX. 

Old Gojfo. My lords, as I shall answer on my 
soul, 
He said not so ; rather, my lords, he bade — 

President. There, get you gone — there, get you 
gone — 

Prosecutor. Call up 
Signor Pulito Mansueto. Now, Sir, 
What say you V 

Mansueto. Sir, I have a son. The son 

Of my grey widowhood. To whose dear tune 
I have so play'd my life, in the dim future 
Of my old heart I own no single hope 
That has not all his features. What he was 
To me, a daughter seem'd to my rich neighbour, 
Worthy Antonio ; and wherein my son 
Fail'd of perfection's stature, it did show 
Complete in her. Antonio and I, 
Old schoolfellows — had mark'd them for each other, 
Well pleased to make our dynasties shake hands 
When we might greet no longer. 

That their love 
Should have run smoothly in the golden channels 
Made by the hands that made them, Sir, what father 
Will doubt ? Sirs, where my garden joins the fields 
J^ow in the vale, no hedge shuts out the fairies, 
But Art and Nature, intimately sweet. 
Exchange tluiir beauties. Fond amidst them runs 
A brook, that like some babbling child between 
Two bashful lovers, telling tales to each, 
Perfects their friendship. Bowering all the way 
With equal joy, they clothe it, and in love 
Shut out the very sun. Hither my boy 
Came oft, at noon, to sing and meditate 
Antonio's daughter: — his sole confidante 
An ancient dulcimer, the (juaint strange spoil 
Of some old disinterred city. Here, 
Good Sirs, this traitor met him, and did use — 
So I learn now — to sing his witchcraft to him, 
Discoursing much of other mistresses. 



THE ROMAN. 327 

Freedom and Rome — (the Mussulman) : in fine, 
My son, beguiled, Sirs, by this sorcerer's spells. 
Slighted Antonio's daughter, and is gone 
I know not whither. 

A Judge. Is it likely, friend. 

The poison wrought no further ? Had this knave 
No monetary service of your son ? 
Had he — 

President. Eh — money — eh — old gentleman ? 
What ? Did he rob you ? 

Mansueto. On my honour, no. 

My child, Sir, is no felon. He took nothing 
But his old lyre. Nay, now you urge my thought , 
There was an ancient toga which had hung 
With other Roman relics in my hall, 
He took that with him. And God bless him with it ! 
Sir, I am not a seer, but methinks 
Your house is childless. 

Prosecutor. Call Capo di Matti ! 

Now, Matti, what are you ? 

Matti. My lords, I am, 

Or was, my lords, of late, house-steward to 
My lord the marquis. 

A Judge. And you know this man ? 

President. Eh — eh — you know him ? Look 
the man in the face. 
Turn about, prisoner ! Eh, you dog — 

Matti. My lords. 

He was a frequent guest where I have served, 
A very turbulent fellow, good my lords. 
And dangerous to the state. 

A Judge. And in your business — 

President. Eh — yes, your business — eh ? your 
daily business 
At table, eh ? and so forth. You have heard — 
Speak up. Sir, you have heard ? 

Matti. As this, my lords. 

His manner was to say with many words, 
Your worships have no right in Italy, 



if 28 THE ROMAN. 

No, not 80 much as to the ground you stand on. 

Then 't was his pleasure to revile crown'd heads ; 

His highness is no duke, — his majesty 

No emperor or king, — my lord the pope — 

A Catholic tongue, my lords, may not deliver 

His awful discourse of my lord the pope ! 

But most, my lords, it was his wont to boast 

Of some strange secret known to himself only, 

To sweep your worships from this land, without 

Gun, sword, or pistol. Which, my lords, I hold 

To be some compound hot and devilish 

Of his black art. My lords, I know the time 

When I have sick'd to hear him. Once, my lords, 

As I shall answer on my sinful soul. 

The prisoner promised my late lord, the marquis, 

To show him all his secret after dinner, 

I' th(i garden house. My lords, some said that eve 

It thunder'd. I knew better. 

A Judge. This is fearful. 

Well, Sir,— 

Matti And, please your lordships, at my loi-d's 
He wore no cowl — my lords, he is no priest — 
This gown, my lords, is worn the better to carry 
His villanous <;ompound. I have heard him say so. 

A Judge. Heaven and earth ! 

President. What V what? not a priest, and wear 
Priest's clothes ? Why, blasphemy — eh V Bla.s- 

phemy, 
Rank blasphemy — put it down so. 

A Judge. Well, fellow, 

This shall be thought on. 

Matti. 1 do fear to say 

What more I heard. 

A Judge. Speak out ! 

Another. Sirrah, thine oath ! 

Matti. Nay then, my lords, nay, to say truth, my 
lords, 
A man is none the worse for what he hears — 
Or you, my lords — 



IHE ROMAN. , ojy 

A Judge. Speak to the point ! 

Matti. My lords, 

Am I held guiltless ? — Servants have their duties — 

A Judge. Speak out, I say. 

Matti. My lords, it seems to pass 

Man's wickedness — but, as I hope to see 
Heaven and the blessed, this man hath conspired 
To level every city, small and great. 
In all this land save one. Sirs, take it down, 
I swear, my lords, even to the very words 
A hundred times repeated, till my knees 
Shook to stand by — " Rome all, Rome only" so 
He phrased it. I speak true, my lords — 

Prosecutor. The Court 

Shall hear a confirmation. You may go. 
Stand up, Bugiardo Sporco, serving-man 
To the aforesaid marquis — 

A Voice from the Crowd. But discharged 
(Let the Court take good note of it) for lying, 
Theft, and adultery. 

Prosecutor. Silence ! my lord marquis. 

Now, fellow, have you heard ill of this prisoner ? 

Sporco. Times out of mind, my lord. 

A Judge. Tell what was wont 

To be his converse at your master's table. 

Sporco. First and foremost, to cut all Austrian 
throats — 
Pillage all churches — ravish all the women, 
And hold them afterwards in common ; ten 
To each man. Then he had a plan to roast — 

Shouts from the Crowd. Down with the rascal ! 
kill him where he stands. 
Stones ! Stones ! Stones ! 

A Judge. Soldiers, save the witness. 

Another. Charge 

This rabble. 

A Friend of the Monk's. Peace, good people. 

The Crowd. Peace ! peace ! peace ! 

Prosecutor. Call up — 



330 THE ROMAN. 

A Judge. The Court is satisfied. Arraign 

The prisoner. 

An Officer. How say'st thou, Vittorio Santo, 
Sometime, but falsely, self-styled Monk of Jesus, 
And now on trial : Thou hast had free hearing 
Of thine accusers. Speak. Guilty or not ? 

The Monk (musing). " It is in vain to rise up 
early, to sit 
Up late, to eat the bread of sorrows. So 
He giveth His beloved rest." 

Officer. Vittorio Santo ! self-styled Monk of 
Jesus, 
Guilty or riot ? Answer ! 

The Monk (musing). You, you that cry 
" How long ? " be patient ; is not your heaven sweet? 

Officer. Vittorio Santo — self-styled Monk of 
Jesus, 
Guilty or not ? 

The Monk (musing). Brother! it is thy voice ; 
'T was well of thee, my brother ! to speak now. 
The home, the plain, the column by the tower, 
Sickness, thy love, loss, death : the revelation, 
Resolve, thought, labor, disappointment, triumph, 
And now the end. Yes, it was well, my brother ! 

A Judge. Shout in his ear. Smite him, ye drowsy 
guards. 
What ! shall this slave despise us ? Corporal, hither 1 
Thou hast a voice, cry out, " Vittorio Santo, 
Guilty or not ? " 

Corporal (shouts). Santo ! Vittorio Santo ! 
Guilty or not ? 

The Monk. I am a Roman. Find me 
A judge and I refuse not to be tried. 

Prosecutor. Traitor ! thou standest at the judg- 
ment-seat 
Of Wollustling von Bauerhund von Bosen, 
Baron of Herrschwuth, and Scheinheiligkeit, 
Count d'Omicidio, Marshal in the armies 
Of that dread sovereign Apostolical 



THE ROMAN. 331 

Our Liege and thine — the imperial Ferdinand, 
Emperor of Austria — King — 

The Monk. Peace ! I have heard 

His titles. Find me, friend, a judge, and I 
Refuse not to be tried. 

The President. A judge ! eh? what? 

A judge — eh — are we not a judge ? eh ? what ? 
Nay, pull his cowl about his face ! There ! flout 



nn 



Spit at him ! Dog ! Nay, we will teach thee, cur ! 
A judge forsooth ! Pluck the mad priest by the 

nose ; 
Nay, not a judge ? Then hear thy sentence — 

The Monk. Spare 

Thy lips, for I appeal. 

President. ' Appeal, appeal, 

Nay, he appeals, the dog ! Appeals ! hear that ! 
By Heavens ! appeals ! Appeal^ vile slave ? to 
whom ? 

The Monk. To that which — looking o'er your 
heads and through 
These walls, which soon shall be as dust — I see 
Rise like an awful spirit from the earth. 
To you, as yet, invisible. To me, 
Present and filling all things. Strong as fate ; 
Dreadful as heavenly justice ; more imperial 
Than all the builders of the Babylons ; 
Invincible as death ; and beautiful 
As itself only. 

President. Drag the traitor out ! 
What ! Does he threaten us with ghosts ? 

Men rush in shouting. To arms ! 

To arms ! 

Others. The mob ! 

Others. Rebellion ! 

Others. Carbonari ! 

A Judge. Guard the priest ! 
Enter Soldier. 

Soldier. Captain, twenty thousand men, 

By my guess — rogues and peasants — 



332 THE ROMAN. 

Captain. How far hence ? 

Soldier. Three gunshots. 

Captain. Armed ? 

Soldier. Ordnance, they say ! 

Captain. Who leads ? 

Soldier. A Woman. 

A Judffe. Man the gates ! 

Men (rusJdng in). The mob ! the mob ! 

A Spectator (to the Monk). Be these thy ghosts 
then ? 

The Monk. Were the troubled waters 
The angel V Yet how many at Bethesda 
Saw no more than tlie trouble ! 

Spectator. Being heal'd, 

What matter V 

The Monk. Good friend, much. The heal'd will 
worship 
The healer. 

Men (riishinr/ in). Haste, haste, haste. 

More. My lords ! a woman, 

My loi'ds ! a woman like a j)rophctess, 
Hair in the winds, and eyes on fire — 

A Judffe. We know. 

Peace ! Guards, remove the prisoner ! 

President. Eh — eh — what — 

Remove — remove — yes, yes, off with him — eh ? 
You lag V You dogs ! lend me a bayonet ! There, 
Then; ! by the heels ! Drag him out by the heels ! 

A Judfpi (to the Captain). Tell oil" two hundred. 
By the southern gate 
Lead out your prisoner. Underneath the walls 
Let him be shot. Face right aljout, and reach 
The western heights. 

Great shouts vy'tthout. Down with the Austrians ! 
Arms ! 
Blood! Charge! Death — death to tyrants! Vic- 
tory ! Freedom ! 



BALDER. 

PART THE FIRST. 



AUTHOR'S PREFATORY NOTE 

TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



If the Poetry of this book had met with critical cen- 
sure, I hope and believe 1 sliould have received the ver- 
dict in silence. Not from any disrespect towards the 
organs of public opinion, but from certain convictions on 
the subject of Poetry, which it is not needful here to set 
forth. Convictions, "however, whicli might be expressed 
by the author of a book so well received as " The Ro- 
man," without provoking those suspicions that usually, 
and often justly, attend a depreciation or deprecation of 
applause. 

But I find that many reviewers have mistaken the 
moral purpose and import of " Balder," and 1 therefore 
prefix to my Second Edition these few explanatory lines. 
The present book is the first part of a work, which I hope 
to complete in three Parts. I intend as the principal sub- 
ject of that work the Progress of a Human Being from 
Doubt to Faitli, from Chaos to Order. Not of Doubt in- 
carnate to Faith incarnate, but of a doubtful mind to a 
faithful mind. In selecting the type and conditions of 
humanity to be represented, I chose, for several important 
reasons, the poetic type and the conditions of modern 
civilization. 

And in treating the first and sadder portion of my sub- 
ject I felt that justice to Nature required me to avoid all 
conventional portraits of the doubter, and — since in these 



334 PREFATORY NOTE 

days his malady is more often negative than positive — to 
indicate the absence of faith rather by the states and 
proportions of the other qualities than by a more distinct 
and formal statement of the differential defect. 

I understand that the public press have described my 
hero to be egoistic, self-contained, and sophistical, imper- 
fect in morality, and destitute of recognised religion, mis- 
taken in his estimate of his own powers and productions, 
and sacrificing to visionary hopes and dreamy distant 
philanthropies the blessing that lay in his embrace, and 
" the duty which was nearest." 

This is precisely the impression which I wished the 
readers of this volume to receive, and I owe some ac- 
knowledgment for such loud and emphatic testimony 
that exactly what I desired to attain has been attained. 
I have reason, however, to blame some of tliese powerful 
witnesses for the indecorous haste and uncharitable dog- 
matism with which, as I have seen and am informed, they 
have taken for granted that I must personally admire 
the character I think fit to delineate, and that I present 
as a model what, in truth, I expose as a warning. Tliat 
I, in common with many of my critics, am not altogether 
free from some of the sins of my hero is probable on the 
general principle that " Balderism " in one form or an- 
other is a predominant intellectual misfortune of our 
day. But that I have no theoretical approbation of such 
errors, may, 1 think, be naturally inferred from the his- 
tory of failure and sorrow which I have herein attached 
to them. 

That the author of " The Roman," a book of faith, 
patriotism, and self-sacrifice, must be personified in 
Balder, the egoistic hero of isolation and doubt, is a 
theory which, I think, contains its own refutation. Its 
serious maintenance might transfer to our modern critics 
a satire of Ben Jonson's which we have now no women 
who deserve: 

" Did I not tell thee, Dauphine? Why all their actions 
are governed by crude opinions without reason or cause: 
they know not why they do anything, but as they are 
informed, believe, judge, praise, condemn, love, hate; and 
in emulation one of another do all these things alike. 
Only they have a natural inclination sways ''em generally 
to the loorst when they are left to themselves.^* 

I am told, however, that some important critical author- 
ities, while recognising that " Balder" in " part the first," 
is by no means my notion of 

" Exemplar Dei " 



TO THE SECOND EDITION. 335 

have loudly questioned the propriet}^ of his creation, 
and have demanded by what public want or social ne- 
cessity the author was directed to this portion of his 
subject. 

Perhaps it would be considered too general a reference 
if I were to remit my demandants to the whole History 
of Intellect; and 1 will therefore indicate some special 
and recent chapters. , In so indicating, I prefer — and can 
afford — to pass over those which would popularly vin- 
dicate this volume of my work, and to direct the really 
earnest inquirer to the materials of a wider and more 
philosophic reply. To the elements of my hero as they 
exist, uncombined or undeveloped, in the much-observed 
and well-recorded characters of men who have been, and 
have more or less deserved to be, praised, loved, followed 
and revered. To sucli suggestive monuments as the Au- 
tobiography of Haydon; to memorable passages in the 
letters of Keats; to many lessons from the life of David 
Scott ; to sundry incidents in the history of Goethe ; to 
several schools of English, French, and German Philoso- 
phy. 

I might add — if I had not already confined myself to 
History — to the secret consciousness of the rising genius 
— perhaps the rising youth — of our strong, great, ambi- 
tious, but perplexed and disconcerted time. 

It will be perceived, by the tone of these remarks, that 
I treat the misrepresentations to which this book has been 
subject as solely the result of unwilling misconstruction. 
If at any time or in any place, they have had a less par- 
donable"^ origin, I am not inclined to be severe on the 
offender. 

Poetry, by whatsoever other qualities it be distin- 

ished,' has this common characteristic — that it will 
ive. Whether, therefore, this work be Poetry or not, 1 
think its assailant may equally claim our condolence. 
On the one hand he assaults it to no detriment but his 
own ; on the other, I have imposed on him the labour of 
killing what, if it can die, should never have been born. 

My personal relation to either case may be briefly and 
tritely expressed : 

" A modest, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not afifront me, — and no other can." 



fv 



BALDER. 



SCENE I. 

A Study, with books, MSS. and statues. A window looks 
o^jer a country valley to the neighbouring mountains. A 
door in the study communicates with an adjoining room. 

Persons. — Balder (a Poet) ; Amy {his wife) ; Doctok 
Paul; An Artist ; A Servant. 

Balder {musing). To-morrow I count thirty 
years, save one. 
Ye grey stones 

Of this old tower gloomy and ruinous, 
Wherein I make mine eyrie as an eagle 
Among the rocks ; stones, valley, mountains, trees, 
In which I dwell content as in a nest 
OP Beauty, — comprehended less by more — 
Or above which I rise, as a great ghost 
Out of its mortal hull ; vale, mountains, trees. 
And stones of home, which, as in some old tale 
O' the East keep interchange of prodigies 
With me, and now contain me and anon 
Are stomached by mine hunger, unappeased 
That sucks Creation down, and o'er the void 
Still gapes for more ; ye whom T love and fear 
And worship, or i' the hollow of my hand 
Throw like a grain of incense up to Heaven, 
Tell me your secrets ! That ye have a heart 
I know ; but can it beat for such as I ? 
Or do I unbeheld behold the fair 
And answering mystery of your countenance 



BALDEK. 33; 

Passionate with rains and sunshine, and, unheard, 

Have audience of your voices, but as one 

Who in a temple passes unrespect 

Between the kneeling suppliant and the saint, 

Meeting the uplifted face and the rapt eyes 

That look beyond ? Am I but as a fly 

Touching the vestal beauties of a maid 

Unchidden ; intimate but by how much 

Inferior ? Do ye speak over my head 

Even as we pray aloud before a child ? 

You trees that I have loved so well, ye flowers 

Unto whom, by so much as ye are more 

In beauty, hath befallen a better love 

Than mine, being her chosen who to me 

Is as your airy fragrance and mere hues 

To your unblushed substantial ; thou sweet vale 

In which my soul, calm lying like a lake, 

Reflects the stars, or, stirred, upon the shores 

Of mountains maketh music, or more loud. 

Rising in sudden flood, and breaking up 

That firmament to heaped and scattered stars. 

Chaotic to and fro from hill to hill 

Defies the rounding elements, and rolls 

Reverberating thunder ; have I lived 

Not unbeloved, and shall I pass away 

Not all unwept ? 

You floors, in whose black oak 
The straitened hamadryad lives and groans. 
Ye creaking dark and antiquated floors, 
Who know so well in what sad note to join 
The weary lullaby what time she rocks 
Her babe, and murmurs music sad and low. 
So sad and low as if this tower did keep 
The murmur of the years as a sea-shell 
The sea, or in these legendary halls 
The mere air stirred, and with some old unknown 
Sufficient conscience moved upon itself, 
Whispering and sighing ; ruined castle-wall 
Whereby she groweth like some delicate flower 
22 



iVdb BALDKR. 

In a deserted garden, thou grim wall 
Hemming her in with thine unmannered rock 
Wherein I set her as a wandering clown 
Who, in a fairy-ring, by night doth seize 
Some elfin taper, and would have it burn 
In his gaunt lanthorn wrought by human hands 
Uncouth, yet art so passing bright with her — 
So fragrant ! little window in the wall. 
Eye-lashed with balmy sprays of honeysuckle, 
Sweet jessamine, and ivy ever sad. 
Wherein like a most melancholy eye, 
All day she sits and looks forth on a world 
Less fair than she, and as a living soul 
Informs the rugged face of the old tower 
With beauty ; when the soul hath left the face 
The sad eye looks no longer from the Hd, 
The sweet light is put out in the long rain. 
The flower is withered on the wall, the voice 
Will never murmur any more, and ye, 
Ye, that both spake and saw, are dumb and blind, 
— Blind save when midnight bolt from your death's- 
head 
Starts like a bloody eyeball, or your rot 
Glimmers in corse-lights on the shuddering 

dark — 
And dumb, but for such noise as dumb men make, 
When winds are moaning in your empty jaws — 
Will there be aught to tell of what has been ? 
Where for so many nights and days she wept, 
Shall not s\yeet colours in the slanting sun 
Cross and recross, and floor the empty space 
With rainbows ? Will the lingering swallow stay 
Within, as conscious of an influence 
Like summer ? Will an earlier primrose shine 
On a peculiar season whereabout 
The winds beat idly ? Shall the winter thrush 
Alight upon your dreary round and sing 
As to a nestling ? Shall the village school 
Know the low turret where all stricken birds 



38y 



Do shelter V Or the curious traveller note 
The lonely tower where evermore the dew 
Hangs on the herbs of ruin ? 

Sun and moon 
Rising and setting, but now face to face 
In equal Heaven, remember us ! O ye 
Celestial lovers you at least should make 
A love immortal ! On this final eve 
Methinks that ye look down on me with eyes 
Of human contemplation. Lady Moon, 
Casting as yet no shade, thy shade dissolved 
In daylight of thy lord, O royal Sun, 
Who though at last thou sink beneath the tides 
She raiseth, unsubdued shalt glorify 
The fatal waters, and still shine on her 
With undiminished love, to you I leave 
Our memories. Oh consecrate these stones 
And point with mindful shadow day and night, 
Where we lie dust below. 



SCENE II. 



The same. From the adjoining room, through the half-opened 
door, are heard the rocking oj a cradle ami the voice of 
Amy. 

Amy. The years they come, and the years they go 
Like winds that blow from sea to sea ; 
From dark to dark they come and go, ^ 
All in the dew-fall and the rain. 

Down by the stream there be two sweet willows, 

— Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow, — 
One hale, one blighted, two wedded willows 

All in the dew-fall and the i-ain. 

She is blighted, the fair young willow, 

— Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow, — 



340 BALDER. 

She hears the spring-blood beat in the bark ; 
She hears the spring-leaf bud on the bough ; 
But she bends blighted, the wan weeping willow, 
AH in the dew-fall and the rain. 

The stream runs sparkling under the willow, 

— Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow, — 
The summer rose-leaves drop in the stream ; 
The winter oak-leaves drop in the stream ; 

But she bends blighted, the wan weeping willow, 
All in the dew-fall and the rain. 

Sometimes the wind lifts the bright stream to her, 

— Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow, — 
The fjilse stream sinks, and her tears fall faster ; 
Because she touched it her tears fall faster ; 
Over the stream her tears fall faster, 

All in the sunshine or the rain. 

The years they come, and the years they go ; 

Sing well-away, sing well-away ! 

And under mine eyes shines the bright life-river ; 

Sing well-away, sing well-away ! 

Sweet sounds the spring in the hale green willow, 

The goodly green willow, the green waving willow. 

Sweet in the willow, the wind-whispering willow ; 

Sing well-away, sing well-away ! 

But I bend blighted, the wan weeping willow. 

All in the sun, and the dew, and the rain. 



SCENE III. 

The same. A table covered with MSS. and books. Baldek, 
solus. 

Balder. Looking upon the Uves of other men, 
I see them move in apt and duteous signs, 
That look like cause and consequent, through type 



HALDEK. 341 

And antitype, day after equal day, 

Year after answering year, from sire to son. 

But life hath been to me a strange wild dream, 

Wherein the prodigies that haunt and home 

AVithin a human bosom have been brought 

Marvel by marvel, as to Adam once 

The monsters of the Earth, that I might name them, 

And know them, and be friends with them. 

A youth 
In years, I hold the weft and woof of age, 
And wheresoever Time may cut the web, 
Can find no novel texture. One sole thread 
Thou owest me, Lachesis ! but I will trust thee, 
Oh thou unfailing debtor ! Upon Earth 
All sights I have beheld but one ; all sori'ows 
Either in type or kind endured but one. 
Death, careful of my learning, hath withstayed 
His final presence, lest his shade allay 
My wounds, and, as before the King of Beasts, 
The lesser horrors of the wilderness 
Flee at his great approach. I have not seen him, 
In cause or in effect. But he will come ! 
For till he come my perfect manhood lacks, 
And this that I was born to do is done. 
By nothing less than man. 

That I should do it. 
And be the King of men, and on the inform 
And perishable substance of the Time 
Beget a better world, I have believed 
Up thro' my mystic years, since in that hour 
Of young and unforgotten extasy 
I put my question to the universe, 
And overhead the beech-trees murmured " Yes." 
Therefore I grew up calm like a young god. 
Having in well-assured serenity 
No haste to reach and no surprise to wear 
The inevitable stature ; nor thought strange 
To feel me not as others, to pursue 
Amid the crowd a solitary way, 



34'. 



And take my own in the o'er-peopled world, 

And find it no man's else. When at the first. 

Because I was no higher than mankind, 

All men went past, and no man looked on me, 

I felt no humbler. When this ample frame 

Expanded into majesty, and they 

Who saw fell back admiring, I beheld j" 

Their change, not mine ; for the unconscious child, 

Tho' for his childhead he be special child. 

Is universal man, and in his thoughts 

Doth glass the future. The thin sapling oak. 

Hid in the annual herbage of the field, 

Hath oaken members, and can boast no more 

AVhen they defy the storms of heaven, and roost 

The weary-winged Ages. One alone, 

Early and late, — faithful as she who knows 

And keeps the secret of the foundling heir — 

Did bear me witness. Nature from my birth 

Confessed me, as who in a multitude 

Confesseth her beloved and makes no sign ; 

Or as one all unzoned in her deep haunts, 

If her true-love come on her unaware, 

Hastes not to hide her breast, not is afraid ; 

Or as a mother 'mid her sons displays 

The arms their glorious father wore, and, kind, 

In silence with discerning love commits 

Some lesser danger to each younger hand. 

But to the conscious eldest of the house 

The naked sword ; or as a sage amid 

His pupils in the peopled portico. 

Where all stand equal, gives no precedence, 

But by intercalated look and word 

Of equal seeming, wise but to the wise, 

Denotes the favoured scholar from the crowd ; 

Or as the keeper of the palace-gate 

Denies the gorgeous stranger and his pomp 

Of gold, but at a glance, although he come 

In fashion as a commoner, unstarred, 

Lets the prince pass. 



BALDER. 348 

I think my hour is nigh. 
I am almost equipped ; and earth and air 
Are full of signs. The uncommanded host 
Of living nations, swaying to and fro 
Like waves of a great sea that in mid-shock 
Confound each other, Avhite with foam and fear, 
Roar for a leader. All this last strange year 
The clouds seemed higher, and each bird of wing 
Doubled his usual flight, and the blue arch 
Opened above, expansive ; even as tho' 
The labouring world drew in a deeper breath, 
And raised her swelling bosom nearer Heaven 
With expectation. My prophetic heart 
Confirmed the omen, and, as ere the crash 
Of earthquake the dull sun stands clothed upon 
With sackcloth, and as to his golden head 
Shorn, I am troubled with the fate not yet 
Accomplished ; an unreasoning melancholy 
Directs me ; I have lingered by the Past 
As by a death-bed, with unwonted love 
And such forgiveness as we bring to those 
Who can offend no more. The very stones 
Of old memorial have been dear to me, 
Sitting long days on ancient stiles worm-worn. 
And gazing thro' green trees o'er grassy graves 
Upon the living village and the dead, 
The early and the latter tryst that all 
Have kept so long and well ; or to the pile 
Reared by those English whose ancestral feet 
Trod the same path their children's children keep 
Still hallowed, where the beauty of the vale, 
The blushing girl of yonder bridal train. 
Walks in her love and joy, and passing slow 
Salutes unconscious with her wedding skirt 
The gable end, no greyer than of yore, 
When by the same dark yew for ever old. 
The same grey Time did hold his scythe above 
Her grandame's head, whose silk of long ago 
So rustled on the wall when she went by 



344 UALDEK. 

A happy bride, and heard perchance that day 

Tales from wan lips of the far mornino; when 

Her mother's mother passed as fair as she. 

Or on the leafy and live-long ]-epose 

Of country labour, and the unhasted life 

That plods with equal step the wonted way, 

A-field at morn and homeward slow at eve, 

And slow with eve and morn through drowsy day 

Doth toil and feed and sleep and feed and toil. 

Or on lone homesteads and the untrespassed rest 

Of immemorial pastures, and the tread 

Of dreamful herds in verdant peace unvexed 

And taskless thro' the round of sauntering day, 

And all the dewy leisure of the meads. 

As though the coming din of .war should scare 

The tenants of the field, and wildered fear 

Distract the ruial motion, and repeat 

In bleating folds and tiampled harvests loud 

With dread, the desperate and delirious pulso 

Of man ; and knowing I did look my last 

Of pastoral quiet, and the passive gait 

Of ease that is the step of all their world, 

Their world at pace with solemn things above, 

With tardy-footed twilight, and all powers 

Eterne that tread time with celestial wont 

Immortal, with the seasons of the earth, 

And with the calm procession of the stars. 

'T is well that on the landmark of to-day 

I lean awhile, and with clear eyes look back 

Upon the way I came, ere once again 

I set forth on my journey to the goal 

Which I have sworn to win. 

That bard who lies 
Like the old knight i' the picture, at the root 
Of our hereditary tree, (first sire 
Of the long line where Shakspeare is not last) 
And by his posture measures height with none, 
Beheld a " House of Fame." For me, I seek 
A sterner architecture and a dome 



BALDEK. 345 

More like the heavens, upon that hill which he 
Who climbs is stronoest amonij living men, 
The seat of templed Power. Not Fame but Power. 
Or Fame but as the noise of Power, a voice 
That in the face is wind, but in the ear 
Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Question, Speculation, 
Plope, Fear, Love, Hate, Belief, Doubt, Faith, De- 
spair, 
Every strong gust that shifts the sails of man. 
And so far worth the utterance ; Fame the paid 
Muezzin on the minaret of Power, 
Calling the world to worship ; Fame the pied 
And gilded following of the royal house. 
Whose function is without, to spread the awe 
Of Power among the common herd, and hand 
External homage to the chaste convoy 
Of them who serve in presence ; or at best, 
An argent herald running on before, 
Nor daring once to turn his menial mouth 
To tell me what I know, and whose great trump 
Tho' it blow Regnarok and wake the graves. 
Is but a sounding brass. Not Fame but Power. 
Power like a god's and wielded as a god ! 
I would have been the wind, and unbeheld 
Rase the tall roaring forest, not the flash 
That cannot move unseen ; the influence 
Unnamed that finds a city and leaves a tomb. 
But not the conflagration to flame wide 
A rabble holiday, round which the Town 
Gapes, and whereof all men have leave to speak, 
Cried in the civic streets and parodied 
In pictures ; and for which, at last put out, 
No hand so base but had availed to do 
The final deed, nor ur<diin but hath spat 
Enough extinction. Whatsoe'er attains 
In solitude, and out of sight doth sling 
The stone of practice where no vulgar tongue 
May cry unskilled applause on the wide throw 
Of strong attempt, nor ever in men's eyes 



346 BALDER. 

Hath eminence so young that the kind hand 

Of popular approval dare be laid 

Upon its head, I love. The Victory 

AVhich hath no mortal opposite to try 

Conclusions and assess my over-match, 

I covet. I could wish that the good Powers, 

Which watched over my making had denied 

The gifts that quell mankind. I would have gone 

Into the wilderness, and in some cell 

Of task severe and exercise divine. 

Grown god-like till perforce the vigilant gods 

Seeing me there made me their deputy 

As being next to them. I would have sat 

And blessed creation, seeing in calm joy 

The thankless welfare, and content to know. 

That from their far thrones. Potentates of Heaven, 

When a new glory flushed this planet earth 

Did look to me on mine. Whatever rules 

By its mere nature and that native place 

Holding of nought below it, from below 

Receives nor of accession or decess, 

Nay by its sovereign essence, is beyond 

The praise and subject homage of the ruled, 

I would have been ; up from the viewless air 

That feeds the unconscious world, or this rare life 

Full in these throbbing veins that moves unfelt 

The beating heart I feel, to the supreme 

And central force that sways the universe 

Unknown, and, being absolute, well pleased 

Resigns the weight of glory, and permits 

To shining suns and stars the gorgeous crown, 

And golden signs of empire. 

I do think 
My throne is set. If this next year might bring 
My one delayed experience ! And, that past, 
End, as with harvest, in some genial close 
Of happier fortunes ! For the fruit of sorrow, 
Tho' it do grow in the shade ere it be ripe. 
Asks liffht and heat, and I am now as when 



347 



Oblivious Nature holds the time o' year, 

Brimfull in a dead level of dull days, 

Till, reaching forth a hand, the sudden sun 

Touches the cup, and spills upon the earth 

The mantling season. 

( Taking up a Mamiscript.) Oh thou first, last, work ! 

Thou tardy-growing oak that art to be 

My club of war, my staff, my sceptre ! Thou 

Hast well nigh gained thine height. My early 

planned, 
Long meditate, and slowly-written epic ! 
Turning thy leaves, dear labour of my life. 
Almost I seem to turn my life in thee. 
Thy many books my many votive years. 
And thy full pages numbered with my days. 
I could look back on all that I have built 
As on some Memphian monument wherein 
The kings do lie in gloiy, every one 
Each in his house, and forward to thy blank 
Fair future, as one gazes into depths 
Of necromantic crystal, and beholds 
The heavens come down. 

* I think I have struck ofl 
One from the weary score of human tasks. 
Having so told my story in a tongue 
So common to the ages, that no man 
In after times shall tell it, but the fact 
To which I have given voice shall be laid by, 
And this my sterling with mine image on, 
Present the ponderous bulk ; and I shall leave 
This history my autograph, wherein 
The hand that writes is part of what is writ. 
And I, like the steeped roses of the East, 
Become the necessary element 
Of that which doth preserve me. 

Howsoe'ef 
This be, and whether I attain or fail 
To add another to those lights of heaven 
That rule our day and night, — to set a sun 



348 BALDER. 

Of joy above us, or some saddest moon 

Whose pale reflected rays, from their first aim 

And primal course bent back and contravert 

Like some Apollo's golden shaft returned 

From an opposing bow, shall still bespeak 

The splendour of their quiver — I do feel 

I have deserved to win. Thought, Labour, Patience, 

And a strong Will, that being set to boil 

The broth of Hecate would shred his flesh 

Into the cauldron, and stir deep with arms 

Flayed to the seething bone ere there default 

One tittle from the spell — these should not strive 

In vain ! No. I have lived what I have sung, 

And it shall live. The flashes of the fire 

Are fire, that which was soul is spirit still, 

And shall not die. I sat above ray work 

As God above the new unpeopled world 

Sat and foresaw our days, and sun and cloud 

Of good and ill passed o'er the countenance 

Ineffable, and filled the plains below ; 

Smiled all a floral kingdom thro' the world, 

Or frowned a race of lions. 

With the year 
That ended yesterday, I close the book 
Of mortal contest, and begin to sing 
Record of the aerial tournaments 
Whereof we are but shadows, on the fields 
Where spirit meets with spirit, and god with god. 
And first thee, Death, — 

[Enter servMit, with post-bag. 

Letters ! {opens and reads.) 
Balder (after a long pause). Oh men, oh men, 
What are ye that I yearn to you, and ye 
To me, but that no grasp of mortal love 
Against the strong enribbed heart can break 
Tlie mystic band that limits each from each, 
Nor sternest edifice of separate life 
Can wholly shut ye out ? If nought can make 
Us one, why can we not be twain in peace ? 



BALDER. 349 

Why do you touch me, why do your kind eyes. 
Unasked, look into mine ? Why does your breath 
Fall warm upon me, and infect my veins 
With strange commotion ? Is it to be borne, 
That ye will neither enter into me. 
Nor leave me ? that men look upon my face, 
And take me for another ; that I know 
Your wants before you tell them, feel the pams 
You feel ; give language to your secret bliss 
Better than you who know it? That ye cure 
My bodily ailments with the selfsame drug 
That heals the fool ; that he who should cut oiF 
This right hand with nice science, that foreknows 
Each sequent vein and muscle, learned his skill 
Upon a felon '? That my last death-sob 
Will be much like what any hangman hears, 
And that the very meanest lips alive 
Do speak some word of mine ? 

Thou happy God, 
That hast no likeness, wherefore hast Thou made 
Me thus ? Have I not gone into unknown 
Unentered lands, and heard in alien tongue 
Strange man unto strange man unload his heart. 
And started in my soul, and said, " Eh ghost ! 
Art thou I ? " 

Am I one and every one. 
Either and all ? The innumerable race, 
My Past ; these myriad-faced men my hours ? 
What ! have I filled the earth, and knew it not ? 
Why not ? How other ? Am 1 not immortal ? 
And if immortal now, immortal then ; 
And if immortal then, existent now ; 
But where ? Thou living moving neighbour, Man, 
Art thou my former self — me and not me ? 
Did I begin, and shall I end ? Was I 
The first, and shall I one day, as the last, 
Stand in the front of the long file of man, 
And looking back, behold it winding out, 
Far thro' the unsearched void, and measuring time 



350 BALDEK. 

Upon eternity, and know myself 
Sufficient, and, that like a comet, I 
Passed thro' my heaven, and fiU'd it V 

[ Through the door are heard the rocking of a cradle, and 
the voice of Amy.] 

Amy (singing). The cuckoo-lamb is merry on the 
lea. 
The daisied lea ; I would I were the lamb ! 
While that the lark will pipe, the lamb will dance, 
And when the lark is mute he danceth still ; 
Up springs the lark, and pipes again for joy 1 
He, more by birth, than we by toil and skill, 
Is happy with no labour but to live ; 
He leapeth early, and he leapeth late ; 
He leapeth in the sunshine and the rain, 
Nor fears the hour that will not find him blest, 
And milky plenty sauntering by his side. 
Also the lamb that doth not toil nor spin. 
Lies where he will, and where he lieth sleeps. 
Sleeps on the hill-top like a cloud o' the hill. 
Sleeps where the trembling Lily of the Vale, 
Albeit she is so spotless, sleepeth not. 
But like a naked fairy fears all night 
The wind that for her beauty cannot sleep. 
Sleeps on the nettle or the violet ; I 

Or where the sun doth warm his trance with light, '; 
Or where the runnel murmureth cool dreams, 
Or where the eglantine not yet in bloom 
Like a sweet girl full of her sweeter thought 
Reveals unheard the sweetness still to be. 
Or where the darnel nods, and, as they tell. 
Of beauty nursed upon a savage dug, 
Sucks grace from the harsh bosom of the waste. 
Sleeps in the meadow buttercups at noon, 
— A babe a-slumber in a golden crib — 
Or like a daisy by the way-side white. 
And like a daisy quieteth the way. 
The lamb, the lamb, I would I were the Lamb ! 



BALDER. 351 

Balder (musing). Thou most pure. 

And guileless voice, I never breathed thee ! No, 
Thou meek misfortune, thou art not my past. 
My Amy, my own Amy, whom of old 
T found as a wild sailor of the sea 
Comes on some happy isle of Love and Peace, 
Some isle where joys that in all other climes, 
Sweet flying thro' the night of his dark way, 
A moment rest upon his sail, pass on. 
And are beheld no more, in equal haunts 
And bright assured communion ever dwell, 
Day without night, and native, brood and sing ! 
Thou who thro' the stern ordeal of this life 
Didst cling beside me, while I showed my power, 
And turned the dust and ashes where I stood. 
To gold and ruby, so that the great throng 
Cried out for envy, and with murderous shout 
Demanded the pure jewel I had not. 
And when 1 trembled, knowing that mine art 
Was ended, and the clamorous people saw. 
Unseen didst slide thy wealth into my hand 
And save me, so that I, serene, unclosed 
My palm before the Judge, and lo ! a pearl ; 
My first Love and my last, so tar, so near. 
So strong, so weak, so comprehensible 
In these encircling arms, so undescribed 
In any thought that shapes thee : so divine. 
So softly human that to either stretch. 
Extreme and farthest tether of desire 
It finds thee still ; my ministering saint. 
Attendant sprite, enshrined Egeria ! 
My ornament, my crown, my Indian gem 
And incommunicable amulet 
Upon my breast, not me but warm with me ! 

(pauses'). 
You heavens ! how far a little breath may blow 
The unstable bubble of inflated thought I 
O voice, O little voice, what power of thine 
Disbands my hosts, which, as a crowd of shades 



352 BALDER. 

That scatter at a word, in sudden rout 

Like the four winds unloosed have sprung apart 

And vanished into distance, until I 

Whose royal and innumerable train, 

Out-trooped the lejrioned gods, am left alone 

As one uncounted ? , How those charmed walls. 

And airy castles, that we rear to hold 

The powers that plague us, and do well contain, 

Imprisoned fiends are pervious to the touch 

Of any human hand ! That we should build them, 

And a mere child should put his vital finger 

Thro' the main bulwark ! That the head should 

write, 
And with a gush of living blood, the heart 
Should blot it ! As one proves there is no God 
And falls upon his knees. Right sapient sage ! 
Supreme intelligence ! Sole substantive ! 
Lord of the empty dark ! True Prince of Nil 
And Nihilo ! a royal argument ; 
But ere thou sign triumphant demonstration 
Be blest and let a benefit refute thee ! 
My little Amy ! [Exit. 



SCENE IV. 

The empty Study. Through the half-open door is heard the 
voice of Amy. 

Amy. My lord, that walkest thro' the universe, 
Did I not go beside thee, as a child. 
With humfele step and looking to thy face ? 

My king, who reign est wheresoe'er thou art ! 
All do thy hest, my King ! but who as £ ? 
Hast thou not all thy subjects here in me? 



HALDKK. 353 

My husband, who hast loved me like a god, 
And blessed me, surely I did well to love 
Thee as a god ? — but can a god forget ? 

Wherein have I oflfended ? Nay, thy brow 
Is sweet and cloudless — I have done no ill. 

My husband, have I not been still thy bird, 
Thy dove, thy snow-white dove, upon thy wrist, 
Or in thy breast or feeding from thy lips, 
Or round thine head, or fluttering with fond feint 
Before thy footsteps — with mine eyes on thee ? 

Was I not as a lamb around thy feet, 
That loved thee ? For my neck thou didst en- 
twine 
Sweet garlands, and I followed thee, nor knew 
The inexorable sadness, till a door 
Opened, and thou art among men, and I 
Am but a lamb, and bleat about the gate. 

My husband, I have been an orphan fawn 

That ran beside the cubless lioness ; 

Who spared her, and did make with her what sport 

Befits the offspring of the forest king. 

And the poor fawn still gambolled in her blood. 

Have I not been a moth about thy light 
Scorched, scorched ; but, husband ! when the 

wound was worst. 
Winging with madder passion still to thee ! 

Wert thou not always as a crescent moon, 
And I thy star within thee, till the time 
Came, and the lengthening distance, and I knew 
My rising and my setting were not thine. 

Oh was I not a floweret in thine hand 
When thou didst stand upon the peak of thought 
23 



Soi tiALDFAi. 

Gazing to heaven, which with a thunder-shock 
Rolled back, and angels came to thee, and thou 
Didst stretch to them thine open hands uplift 
In welcome, and I fell to where I am. 

I think they touched thine eyes, and that thence- 
forth 
Thou seest ,ill things clearly, and me here, 
Nor knowt'st it is very far from thee. 
Oh husband ! it is night here in the vale, 
And I lie on the rugged earth who had 
Thy bo?om ; moreover I cannot hear 
Thy voice, nor tho' thou seest me can I see 
Thy face. It is not with me as with thee ; 
The shadows here are always long and deep. 
Also the nio[ht comes sooner than to thee. 



SCENE V. 
The Study. Balder at his writing-table. 

Balder. Death, thou must stand aside ! 
mood is not 
Upon me, and my gold is only dug 
r the vein. The microcosmos. like its twin, 
Hath climates and their seasonable fruits. 
My brain is warm, and I behold the sun ; 
Clear as a pulsing wave of hyaline, 
And I cry " Light ; " tender and beautiful 
As the west waiting for the evening star, 
And loveliness, like a fair girl, comes forth 
Into the dewy silence. As I throb 
The sense responds, and, like a courtier's eyes. 
Finds for each royal folly of my soul 
Portentous reason. The disordered fact 
Outruns its antecedent, and so much 
Eternity within doth set at nought 



15ALDEK. 355 

The wont of time, that I am stirred yet ere 
Disturbance, and do suffer by the ill 
Not yet admitted to the sum of things. 
I will await what figure now unseen 
Is to rise up and lay his charmed hand 
Upon this inner harp from string to string 
Already trembling, and arrive, tho' late, 
To give a name to that foredone effect 
Which else had lacked a father. 

IHe meditates^ writes, and reads aloud. 
" Then saw I Genius, blind, with upturned face, 
As one who hears, and to the struggling sense 
(Tottering beneath accomplishment, and faint 
In touch of the inestimable prize) 
Each from his office brings her conscript powers 
Auxiliar, and in strained conflux sustains 
The sole perception ; happy so to gain 
The one sufficient knowledge, and therein 
Utterly blessed. Like a listening saint 
Lifting her wrapt brow to the audible Heaven. 
Nor sightless by defect, but that her lids 
Closed o'er the needless eyes. Her moving lips 
Perfunctory incessant murmur made, 
And thus she held her unrespective vvay, 
Following the upper sound which no man heard, 
Summer and winter, day and night ; but more 
Like a sweet madness in those dearer times 
Wherein the horned seasons fill and wane. 
Spring, autumn, morn, and eve ; o'er hill and alp, 
Forest and city, steep and battlement. 
Or wrought or native ; through vales, gulphs, and 

caves. 
And midnight solitudes, and martial plains. 
And sun, and storm, and frost, and flood, and fire." 

Bah, is this Genius who should rule the world 
And be incarnate God ? Rather, methinks, 
Some maimed celestial, feeling back her way 
To the lost heavens, or that fair Eve whom once 



356 BALDER. 

Genius, what time she " listened to the voice," 
Caught in his arms in Eden. 
(^Turnincj to a statue) Listening Eve ! 

What marvel that my spell-bound fancy drew 
The captive, not the captor ? As the earth 
Revolves, and we behold the vanished stars 
Of yesterday, that, being fixed, remain 
To gladden lands beyond us, so in thee 
Immortal ! this our Present wandering comes 
Round to the sight of long lost Paradise, 
And all the primal act. And we go down 
To death, but thou, fast held, remainest to rise 
On other times, and, orient by our fall, 
Shalt light the orb of ages. 

Thou rare power, 
Sluggard, ungrateful, wayward, false, and vain. 
Whom men call Muse ! I cannot fetter thee 
But I can punish. Back into the void, 
And bring me what I seek ? [/7e writes. 

Now what art thou, 
Genius ? (reads) " There came a chariot o'er the 

earth, 
Swift on strange wheels, such as eye hath not seen, 
Nor can see, in the speed of their great course 
Viewless, but leaving tracks which nations ran 
To wonder at. Whether o'er rugged rooks 
Passing, and turning all their streams to tears 
Sad down the channelled visage of the hills ; 
Or o'er the level sea, whirling strange dews 
And rainbows to a luminous mist, wherein 
Mermaids in sportive companies made play 
Beneath their dark hair, till the heaving sea 
Blushed like a cloudy morn, and dolphins leaped, 
And Triton mounted on a teaming wave 
Sounded pursuit ; or o'er the beaten road 
Of daily use raising a dust that fell 
Upon the things that were, and made them new. 
(The clime cleared, and on either hand the path 
Arcadian did spontaneous holiday 



BAr.DEH. 857 

Prankt with its herbs of grace. Fair sun and 

moon, 
From siofns of fortune with consentino; stars 
In sweet succession, or conjunctions rare 
Shone festal round the car, while Time himself 
Grew young, and ran before. Fierce beasts that 

shun 
The conmion sunshine, rose, and each subdued, 
Moved to the genial light, from his dark den 
Approaching tame by every forest glade, 
Where Una led the lion. Nor rude race 
Of daily men, that like a city flood. 
Came headlong heedless mixed in civic din. 
Escaped the spell ; nor touched the enchanted 

ground 
But sudden as to music in the air, 
Grave measured step and custom of the gods 
O'ertook them — Salian and CEnoplian dance 
Heroic, and the front of golden days.) 
Or whether over Alpine solitudes 
Ploughing such record as nor mountain storms 
That rage midway, nor high above the thunder 
The ceaseless snows of silent centuries 
Efface ; or crossing immemorial plains 
Indentured where the furrows fill with flowers 
As with a Tyrian rain ; where'er on earth 
It found the barren wilderness, and left 
Eden — if Eden was the rosy prime. 
The master passion, and first extasy 
Of this our world. Nor drawn by steed, nor steered 
By human hand, it came an empty car 
To the embattled people as of will, 
And took its martial station in the van, 
And post of honour. Then the mighty men 
Climbed, venturous, its crystal sides wherein 
The changing tumult of the mirrored field 
Shone, like opposing armies. But behold 
A marvel ! for the empty car was full. 
And none could enter. Therefore moved with fear 



358 JiALDER. 

And jealous doubt, tliey called the legions round 
To thrust it forth, which passive in the midst 
Stood stirless — tho' still wheeled the wheeling 

wheels 
Invisible with motion. But when spears 
Were couched and charging, sudden from the 

ground 
Wingless it rose ! and all the baffled host 
Fell with deceived expectance. As it rose 
Slow thro' the day, the wondrous wheels being still 
Hung in the air, and the great multitude 
With upturned eyes amazed at once cried out 
Their likeness, and of countless voices each 
Belied its neighbour. But the car sublime 
Above the round horizons, each on each 
Widening like circles in the stagnant sea 
Of space disturbed, showed like a lesser world 
Dyed with the coloured earth, and as it went 
Heavenward, and we astonied still beheld, 
Lo ! we were ware as of a countenance 
Unspeakable, and as of burning hands 
Waving farewells, and somewhat of a form 
Sitting within the brightness. Then convulsed 
With shame, both of their tardy eyes obscure 
And lost revenge, from instant bows and slings. 
Artillery and every loud offence. 
Sudden the universal host upsent 
Impotent rage. As tho' the earth that lay 
A sleeping beast, sprang up, and with a roar 
Shaking his shaggy hide, w ith thickest dust 
Darkened the air. 

Then the mysterious wheels 
Whirled in the sky; the burning hands uplift 
Pointed to Heaven ; and the tremendous car 
Launched thro' the seas of light, and passed the 

noon 
As the mere yellow strand whence it set sail 
To sea ; careering as to reach the goal 

And, as it passed, 



BALDER. 359 

He whom we saw threw out a golden chain, 
And linked the sun, and led him from his lair 
Obedient, while night fell on earth ; and He 
Shot thro' the darkness and was lost. But soon, 
— Himself unseen — I knew his viewless way. 
Thro' the stirred Heavens where I saw the stars 
Leaving their spheres, till as it were a host 
Of meteors shone across the streaming sky. 
Nor him victorious long the toil delayed. 
But on a time thro' all the flaming air 
Rose the large dawn of his far-off return, 
And as it rose and rose embraced the earth 
Into a breast of glory ; such great day 
Began the morning as if life had changed 
Its metre, heaving nature had attained 
To grander issues, and a rounded year 
Came up the ampler East. And Him I saw 
Rushing upon the Orient ; in his train 
Fierce as reluctant lions dragged at speed 
Behind a victor, — all their forest-brood 
Roaring around and leaping — captive suns 
Attend him, and their wild and scattered moons 
Whiten the air. Then the pale nations cast 
Dust on their heads, and hid their dazzled eyes, 
And over all a great sound, full of death. 
Shrieked like a plague-wind from a battle-field, 
Noisome with mortal horror thro' the land. 
' Woe, woe, we cast him from us in his day, 
And now he will return to take the world 
And burn it in his fury ! ' " 

{Throivs the MS. to the ground). Lie thou there ! 
Genius is yet unwritten. 

[ Through the door is heard the voice of Amy. 



Happy eve, happy eve ! 

But the mavis singing in the eve, 

Sinjreth for the silence of the eve. 



3S0 



Happy flower, happy flower, 

But the golden secret of the flower, 

Hidden honey sweeter than the flower. 

Happy moon, happy moon, 

But the loving moonlight of the moon, 

Tender wonder fairer than the moon. 

Little child, little child, 

As the evening mavis unto me, 

As the twilight mavis unto me. 

Little child, little child, 

As the hidden honey unto me, 

As the golden honey unto me. 

Little child, little child, 

As the wondrous moonlight unto me, 

As the better moonlight unto me. 



SCENE VI. 

Tlie vacant Study. Through the qptn dom- the voice of Amy. 

Amy. Sleep thee, my child, altho' when thou 
didst sleep 
And shut thine eyes methought the world was blind. 
Sleep thee, my child, altho' thy mother wakes. 
Sleep, happy babe, upon a woful breast. 

Oh, babe, I can endure to live ; oh babe, 
I see thee thro' the anguish of my years 
Like a star rising thro' the smoke of hell. 

Oh babe, I have escaped to thee beyond, 
Beyond the present torture, calm and sweet ; 
A moment, and I reck not of the fiends. 



BALDER. o(Jl 

And I am bathed in dews, and in thy sphere 
Thou bearest me naked of all my woes 
Which burn upon me, babe, but are not me. 

My vesture is on fire ; all all in vain. 

In vain I tear it, knotted strong and deep 

With chains more cruel than the flames, in vain 

I run and fan them in the wind of life. 

A moment I am free beyond the years ! 

Thou risest, oh my star, and I to thee ! 

A moment, and the flesh must needs be here, 

And the fierce anguish knotted to the flesh. 

And I am like a spirit in thine urn, 

Cool thro' the balmy shades of painless heaven. 

Sleep, sleep, my babe, thou shalt not cry me nay ; 
Sleep, sleep, my babe, my babe, while it is night. 
Ah, who shall say the morn may not be fair ? 
Sleep, little babe, and let m}' terror sleep ! 
Oh sleep awhile, and stop the wheels of fate. 
1 think that there is privilege in Avoe, 
And sorrow may not seize us everywhere. 
And havoc doth not hunt where'er he list. 
And sleep is halcyon time when griefs are still. 
Sleep, sleep, my babe, and let me clasp thee fast 
And know a little space thou canst not die, 
Nor earth nor heaven or plots or works thine ill. 
Sleep, sleep, my babe, my babe, and let me hold 
My destiny a moment in mine arms, 
Nor find it heavier than can rise and fiill 
Harmless as thou upon my heaving breast. 

Alas ! alas ! the vision of my youth ! 
When that I lifted not mine eyes to pray, 
But I beheld him thro' the cloudless air, 
Walking as on a morning mountain-top 
Transfigured, with the azure clothed about. 
Nor on a higher earth, but lower heaven ! 



362 IJALDER. 

Sleep, sleep, my babe, and dream thy mother's 

dream, 
That all her joy may be contained in thee. 

He stood in light, he stood in blinding light ! 
I loved, I climbed to reach him where he stood, 
1 the weak woman, I the child of clay ! 
I fell ; to see him from the beetling brink, 
Stretching for ever unavailing arms 
To her who, as in dreams, for ever falls. 

Oh hapless, hapless heart, too proud to fall ! 
Oh hapless, hapless limbs, too frail to climb ! 
Heart of these limbs, how couldst thou be so proud ? 
Oh limbs, how could ye mate so proud a heart ? 
Sleep, sleep, my babe, and dream thy mother's 

dream. 
And if to wake like her, oh wake no more ! 

If thou couldst grow what once I prayed to be, 
If I could see a daughter at his side. 
And he might look upon himself more fair. 
And all her mother with a kinder fate ! 

The' I have failed and fallen in the race, 
Thou shalt redeem me, and with better limbs 
Contend. And I will kneel and shew my scars, 
And make too memorable with my tears 
Each treacherous fortune where thy mother fell. 
And break with mine own hands her image fair, 
And show her to thine eyes so wan and weak, 
Crazed with waste life and unavailing days. 
And stir thee, blushing with her penitence. 
And in the fire of a great love and woe 
Become as nought before thee, that thou. Babe, 
Inherit from her ashes, and arise 
Trium})hant from the pyre, and so in death 
I load thee with my hopes, and win in thee ! 



363 



Awake, awake, my babe, my only babe, 
Sleep not too deeply, babe, thou art my heart, 
And only by its pulse I know I live. 



SCENE VII. 

The Study. Balder loriting. 

Balder (j'eads). I stood and did not dream. 
Before me was the great plain, and behind 
The long dark mountains over which the sun 
Held noon ; and as I stood the earth 'till now 
All summer trembled, and beyond the ridge 
A pulsing murmur as of coming seas 
On echoing shores from out a further void. 
Grew in the far dim distance, as once more 
Old ocean made invasion, and advanced 
With all his waves. And as a dreamer hears 
What sounding on her fleeing track pursues 
The frantic soul that in the panic dies, 
In louder progress, strepitous, so came 
The great approach. Whereat-the agued earth 
W^ith deadly fear did shiver to her core. 
And the sound rose, and her great dread became 
Convulsion, and the rampant uproar beat 
Wilder alarum on the battered ear, 
Swift waxing to the tumult of a host 
Charging to battle all on serried steeds 
That stepped as one. I strained to the event 
With eye-balled sight as to a cry i' the dark, 
And all the unseen pursuit more near enraged, 
— The panting terror and the throbbing chase, - 
Wilder as if the beating heart o' the world 
In palpitation mad and moribund 
Huge in its quaking tenement did shake 
Th' enribbed rocks. And — as me, utterless, 
Strong tumult choked, and sick expectance pale, 



364 BALDEK. 

And horror of the end — a louder blast 
Rush'd o'er, and sudden at a thunder peal, 
As tho' the loaded sound did with a roar 
Discharge its cause, while the great herd that 

grazed 
The summits parted like a scattered flock 
Beneath a lion, somewhat leaped the hills. 
The awful hills, and on the shattered plain 
Came like the crash of doom ! Riderless he 
Who can bestride him ? Tho' his reeking flanks 
Sonorous clang with loud caparison 
Of sounding war. A moment, and he stands 
Heightened with pride, dilate at haughty gaze, 
His swelling frame to half the horizon round 
Breathing defiance ; fierce his levelled head 
Equals the clouds; his eye is as a hot 
And bloody star ; his nostrils as the red 
Round throat of fiery ordnance, and his snort 
Ten thousand clarions. Such a steed so wild, 
Left in some ancient battle of the gods 
Great Mars unhorsed. 

And now as one who sees 
His foe beyond the river, with a plunge 
Divides the waters, he with sudden spring 
From the recoiling fields that reeled and broke, 
Breasted the big spent clouds that, faint with flight, 
Each upon each lay cumulous, and thro' 
That sundered sea, tremendous, a mile hence, 
Swift as a bolt and heavy as a hill. 
Shocked the rent plain, and in as wild rebound. 
Leaped in mere strength a thousand fathoms high, 
Lashing new winds, and, wanton in descent. 
Spurning far heaven with upslung vehemence 
Of impious heels; and gnashing rooted oaks, 
Wilful did fling them into either sky 
Like loathed grass. Then sudden in career 
He stretched across the flats. His mighty limbs 
Resulting in the plunge from rest to speed 
Caverned whereon he stood, and left his place 



BALDER. 365 

Mixed in tumultuous ruin. As he went 
His hot hoofs thundering filled the fatal air 
Recalcitrant, and scattered rocks and stones, 
Crushed hall and hamlet, trampled tower and town, 
Aye peaceful earth, and sods that nursed the lamb, 
Red with the trodden flocks, in hurtled death 
Swept the disastrous land. As when some mine, 
Dark filled with sulphurous slaughter, at a nod 
Belching its storm, o'erwhelms in sudden wreck 
The startled siege. O'er all the wide expanse 
The wondrous swift concussion of his course 
Sped desolation ; far and near I saw • 
How dust-clouds, hovering like the pestilence, 
Marked fallen cities, that on either hand 
Confessed the unseen commotion where he passed. 
And round the extremest verge dim rocks were 

rent, 
And him in distance lost a sound betrayed. 
The loud world groaned within as the great cry 
Of crushed mankind proclaimed the track of 

" War." 



SCENE VIII. 

The vacant Study. Throuyli the open door the voice of Amy. 

Amy. Is there no hostel by the way of life ? ^ 
My wayfare was from far as I can see ; 
As far my toil is hot and white before; 
1 stagger with my load, and halt midway, 
And trembling turn beseeching eyes and vain 
Backward and forward from my pitiless place. 
The weary miles lie infinite beyond, 
And each might be the future and the past. 
I would lay down my burden lest I die. 
Is there no hostel by the way of life ? 



366 HALDEK. 

SCENE IX. 

The Study. Balder, ai his writing-table. 

Balder. This very morn 
Thro' her green island home the laughing spring 
Drove, flinging joy, her blossom-laden ear. 
Forth from the polar cavern of the snows, 
Dripping with winter, leaped a northern storm, 
And shook himself; and she lay buried white 
Beneath an avalanche. At that dread sight 
Up rose thfe West, and such a wind went by, 
As stunned the isle with voices, like a chief 
Rushing to battle with a sounding host 
In shouting ranks wide on the echoing hills. 
At first a roar of warning, "to the north ! " 
Then like the shriek of all a ravished land, 
" O Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe ! " 
And then like the world's trumpet blown to war, 
" The North, the North, the North, the North, the 
North ! " 
Enter, under the window, wandenny Sailors, singing. 

Sailors. 

" How many ? " said our good Captain. 

" Twenty sail and more." 

We were homeward bound, 

Scudding in a gale with our jib towards the 

Nore. 
Right athwart our tack, 
The foe came thick and black, 
Like Hell-birds and foul weather — you might 
count them by the score. 

The Betsy Jane did slack 
To see the game in view. 
They knew the Union- Jack, 



liALDER. 367 

And the tyrant's flag we knew ! 
Our Captain shouted " clear the decks I " and the 
Bo'sun's whistle blew. 

Then our gallant Captain, 

With his hand he seized the wheel, 

And pointed with his stump to the middle of 

the foe. 
" Hurrah, lads, in we go ! " 
(You should hear the British cheer, 
Fore and aft.) 

" There are twenty sail," sang he, 

" But little Betsy Jane bobs to nothing on the 

sea ! " 
(You should hear the British cheer, 
Fore and aft.) 

" See yon ugly craft 

With the pennon at her main ! 

Hurrah, my merry boys. 

There goes the Betsy Jane ! " 

(You should hear the British cheer, 

Fore and aft.) 

The foe, he beats to quarters, and the Russian 
bugles sound ; 
And the little Betsy Jane she leaps upon the 

sea. 
" Port and starboard ! " cried our Captain ; 
" Pay it in, my hearts ! " sang he. 
" We 're old England's sons, 
And we '11 fight for her to-day ! " 
(You should hear the British cheer. 
Fore and aft.) 

'' Fire away ! " 
]n she runs, 
And her guns 
Thunder round. Exeunt ISciilors. 



368 BALDER. 

Balder. As he who turns 
From the full-shining and white orb of noon 
Sees a blauk sun in air, this chant of Freedom 
Leaves in my soul its hideous contrary. [^Pauses. 

Be patient, Death, for if not thee I paint, 
None but thine immemorial minister 
Thy dear abortion whom thy craft sent here 
That by his side thou mayst look good and fair, 
Prevents thine honours. 

My poor goosequill ! Bah ! 
Had I a pen plucked where Celoeno flies 
Uneleanest ! 

My old iiik-horn! — wliy thou drop 
Of rheum ! thou milk-pot ! — [ Writes and then reads, 
Lo Tyranny ! a Juggernaut than he 
Who makes an Indian Bacchanal blush blood 
At his un uttered hldeousness more tbul. 
Nor on a car of India, but upborne 
Upon a monstrous shape for which the brood 
Of creeping reptiles, or the noisome plagues 
Egyptian found no type, nor Hydra old, 
Nor fell Chimaera. High the idol sat, 
Gore-stained, nor arm to seize, nor leg to stand 
Had he, but from his beast his branchless trunk 
Rose festerous thro' the morning. What he rode 
Headless came onward, manyfold and one 
As a dishevelled legion, and far off 
Showed like a galley of ten thousand oars 
In numberless commotion, nor in stroke 
Ordered, but with division infinite 
Beating the air ; for round its dreadful length 
Such moving arms innumerous like a fry 
Of twining fiery Pythons plied the earth 
Incessant, and, alternate feet and hands. 
Bore the black bulk, or with contentious haste 
Incredible, before, beside, behind, 
In manifold appearance all too slow 
To feed consumption, filled the ghastly maw 



BALDKR. 369 

Of him who sat above, and eyes had none, 

Nor human front, nor but a mouth obscene, 

Abominable, that for ever yawned 

Insatiate, drivelling from its carrion sides 

Infernal ichor. Wide the cavern gaped, 

Still straining wider, and thro' gurgling weight 

Of seething full corruption night and day 

His craving bowels, famished in his fill. 

Bellowed for more. Which, when the creature 

heard 
That bore him, dread, like a great shock of life, 
Convulsed it, and the myriad frantic hands. 
Sprang like the dances of a madman's dream. 
And so he came ; and o'er his head a sweat 
Hung like a sulphurous vapour, and beneath 
Fetid and thunderous as from belching hell, 
The hot and hideous torrent of his dung 
Roared down explosive, and the earth, befouled 
And blackened by the stercorous pestilence, 
Wasted below him, and where'er he passed 
The people stank. 



SCENE X. 



The vacant Study. Through the open door the voice of 
Amy. 

Amy. Neither gold nor silver, oh ye heavens ! 
Only a little sunshine and sweet air. 
The sunshine and the air of the old days ! 

Only to be a feather on the stream, 
A thistle-plume upon the changing wind 
Hither and thither ; to go to apd fro 
And up and down the joyance of the world, 
The happy world, and be a part of all. 
24 



370 



Ye are now unto me, oh ye bright heavens, 
As one who should misuse the deaf and bUnd 
In secret, but full loud when men are by 
Speaketh rich words of love into the ears 
That hear not, and before the sightless eyes 
Makes vain ado of all they cannot see. 

I pray ye ope the lattice of my soul 
And let the wind blow on me ere I die, 
And let me hold my tbrehead to the light. 
And let me feel the falling of the dews, 
And know the holy blessing of the rain ! 



SCENE XI 



The vacant Study. Through the open door the voice of 
Amy. 

Amy. My babe, my babe, when thou art grown 
to age, 
What will thy speech avail thee among men ? 
Thy father-land speaks not thy mother-tongue. 

For loving me, and thou wilt love me, babe, 
I shall be still thy book, and all thy words 
Ot love and gladness thou shalt spell in me. 

And loving me — and thou wilt love me, babe, 
Shall I not be thy beauty and thy good V 
And thou wilt seek mine image in the earth. 
And make thy world of all things likest me. 

Thou wilt not make day night, nor night thy day, 
But dwell in the unvalued parts of day. 
Shadow shall be thy light, and light thy shade. 
What men forget, thou wilt remember well, 
And all they know and love thou wilt forget. 



Also, poor babe, thou wilt not hear the birds 
Of morning, but if any night-fowl wail 
Far in the lonely hills, thou wilt awake, 
And I shall see thee listen in my breast ! 

Nor shall thine eye pursue the butterflies, 
Nor joy in shining beetle, nor humming bee ; 
But thou wilt clap thine hands to feel the bat 
Stirring the twilight ; and at hoot of owl, 
Shalt laugh and leap as at a mother's voice. 

Also when thou shalt go upon thy feet, 
Thy tiny feet beside me, well I know 
Thou wilt not bring me daisies, nor sweet cups 
Of gold and pearl, nor ever-ringing bells. 

But we shall pass the flowery banks and braes, 
Unheeded as a winter — thou and I. 
Thy little footstep will be old and staid. 
And thou wilt gaze upon the ground like me. 

And 1 shall see thee stoop for withered straws, 
And every joyless waif the wind lets fall. 
I think thou wilt not pass a blighted leaf 
Dead in the dust : and I shall lead thee by 
The churchyard yew with lingering gaze and lon< 
Reluctant ; I shall sit me down and weep. 
And thou wilt climb my lap, and deck my head 
Wilh garlands, till I tremble at thy glee, 
And lift my hands to find — hemlock and rue. 

Also, poor babe, these walks that once 1 loved 
And tended shall have nought for thee in spring 
Or summer, but thy childish eye shall light 
With knowledge when in any plot unseen 
December brings the thorn that flowers in vain, 
Or hellebore, like a girl-murderess, 
Green-e}'ed and sick with jealousy, and white 
With wintry thoughts of poison. All the year 



372 BALDER. 

Thou wilt be doleful in the planted beds 

And bowers, but a strange sense shall draw thee 

where 
Whatever nook that never saw the sun 
Is dark and cold, with undescended dews 
And saddest moss, and mildew of the wood 
And wall, and livelong orpine that cannot die, 
Moist ivy, and inglorious moschatel 
Like a blind beggar 'neath a upas-tree 
Sickening below the nightshade. And thine heart 
Shall fill thee, and thou shalt be rich and glad 
As at a garden ! 

Oh my babe, my babe, 
That wert to be his glory and his joy. 
The flower of women and the star of men. 
Latest of mortal daughters, and the best. 
The final Eve to sum up once for all 
The loveliness of woman, and touch lips 
With her who first began us ; the born theme 
Of all the poets since the world was new, 
Who singing as they could still sang of her, 
And knowing only she must be, knew not 
Or when or where. She, she, that was to come 
In the whole image of the Beautiful, 
Between the attending Loves, and bear aloft 
Wisdom and knowledge as a wreathed lyre 
That sounds but with her going, trembling sweet 
In trembhng garlands ; or with bolder hand 
Run o'er all nol>le arts as one runs o'er 
A nine-stringed harp, and at her changing will 
Equal in each be every Muse in turn, 
And multiply the Graces as she moved ! 
His words are on my lips, my babe, my babe, 
He sang them to me, child, in olden days, 
Till I sprang up before him, full of pride, 
And reeled, and fell, and mourned until thou earnest, 
And ever since have sung his song to thee. 
And thou wilt grow like me, my babe, my babe. 
And he shall seek and seek thro' all the earth, 



BALDEK. 373 

Nor see his heart's desire until he die ! 

Will no one snatch thee from my bosom, babe, 

And save thee from thy mother ? Do not love me. 

No, do not love me, no, no, do not love me. 

No, do not love me ; 't is the lullaby 

I '11 sing all day. No, do not love me, no. 

No, do not love me. 

Dost thou waken, babe ? 
Hush, hush, rebellious ! Is my breast so hard 
A pillow ? Nay, what ails thy mother's milk ? 
Ah, dost thou turn from me, my little babe ? 
Does the spell work already ? Love me, love me ! 
Love me, my babe, lest I go mad with fear ! 



SCENE XII. 

The Study. Balder at his writing-table. 

Balder. The great array is marshalled ; on the 
right 
Freedom, Truth, Justice, Mercy, Love, and Peace 
Captained by Genius, stand under the broad 
Standard of day held by the east and west 
With sanguine hands and high. 

In horrid rank 
Sinister, front to hostile front opposed 
Beneath a banner dark as if black winds 
Of chaos rose in tempest and did blow 
The billowy verge of everlasting night 
O'er the celestial border, glare the host 
That follow the blind Power whose headless beast 
Some evil god directs. Above his crest 
Driven in the inevitable storm behind, 
Like lambent flames of darkness licking far 
The middle air, his terrible ensign 
Roars to the coming war. 

They stand at gaze. 



374 BALDER. 

Expecting till the equal voice of Death 
Midway between the fierce and serried vans 
Give signal of advance. But his great place 
Is empty, and the crowded action waits. 

[ Through the door comes the voice of Amy. 
Amy {sing si). 
Up went the jaunty jay, 
Bough by bough, bough by bough, 
Up went the jaunty jay. 
Up the tall tree. 

Up the tall tree where a happy bird was singing, 

By his mossy home was singing, 

To his callow brood was singing 

In the green tree ; 

In the tall tree-top, in the merry tree-top, 

— Alas, so merry ! 
In the brave tree-top. 
Waving to and fro. 

As a gay gallant up the stairs of pleasure, 
By leaps the jaunty jay went up the tree. 
Thou knowest, Oh mother-bird ! for thou wert by, 
Oh mother-bird, thy young, thy callow young ! 
When he stood o'er them as one stands at meat. 
Did they not lift their heads up as to thee ? 
And like a fruit he plucked them one by one, 

— The jay, the shining jay, the jocund jay ; — 
In the tall tree-top, in the merry tree-top, 

— Alas, so merry ! — 
In the brave tree-top, 
Waving to and fro. 

Like a gay gallant from a ruined maiden, 
The painted jay came smirking down the tree. 
Oh bird, oh crying bird, oh mother-bird, 
Oh childless bird, could I not die for thee ? 
Yes, I could die for thee ! 



375 



SCENE XIII. 

The Study. Balder at his writing-table. 

Balder. Had it been my portion here 
With these obedient limbs and iron aid 
Of some unconscious instrument to dig 
The unquestionable soil, so that this hand 
Thus armed should with no further cost than throes 
Of definite volition — as to grasp, 
To sink, to raise, — complete the stated dues 
Of daily labour ! 

Were I born to plough, 
While the lark drops upon his meal, the long 
Material black and measurable furrow. 
Whereof the brute sense of returning steer, 
Treading the line, observant, testifies 
■That it is made indeed, and grossest clown 
Who holds two eyes in use is a critic 
Superfluously endowed ! 

Happier to drive 
The patient ass along the beaten way, 
Laden with humble fruits to the set mart 
Of fixed reward, and back to certain rest, 
And sweet assured possession, than like me 
Bound helpless on the fury of the winds, 
To scour the plains I seek not, scale the height 
Where my brain swims, and leap, as in a dream, 
Down into the unfathomable void, 
While from the fall — like my back-streaming 

hair — 
Fear-blown in all my veins the blood streams back, 
And faints with horror. 

I that am called proud, 
Lying most humbly weary and abject 
On the immoveable earth that doth so please 
This mortal frame, and seeing my dull race 
Doing their easy pleasures to and fro, 



a7G BALDEK. 

Self-ordinate, could sometimes sell my birth-right I 
For any pottage that would feed the flesh 
Of other men upon me. 

Death, Death, Death ! 
I have seen every face but thine to-day ! 
And to behold thee, from sunrise till now, 
How have I strained these eyeballs ! \_Exit. 

Through the open dam' comes the voice of Amy. 
Amy. A pool in a deep valley at dead noon, 
Lidless and shadeless like a burning eye, 
Low lieth looking at the summer sun : 
So in my bosom, oh my babe, my babe, 
Thou liest low, and lookest up to me. 



SCENE XIV. 

The Study. Balder (solus) at his writing-table. 

Balder. My heart is heavy. This it is to speak 
On Alpine heights and with the profane breath 
Of innocent words, to bring the avalanche 
Upon my human head. I might have known 
That he who treads these altitudes must walk 
As from the mansions of eternal snow 
I have beheld two customary stara 
Go forth in sovereign converse, like to gods, 
But seen to speak, not heard. 

A dread is on me. 
As In a mortal illness, when the flesh 
Knows in the air the coming dart, and shakes 
With terror. I have called so loud and long 
Into the twilight cave of Mystery ; 
And now at length, when thro' the cavernous dark 
I hear ■far answering feel, my stout heart sinks. 
That Dream ! As some wild legendary rhyme 



BALDER. 37 7 

Is still again begun, while at each turn 

O' the winding tale the listener, cowering low, 

Whispers the wonted question, to receive 

More cold and pale the expected old reply 

That lifts another hair, I ponder o'er 

My strange adventure, and do press and wring 

The mirk and husk of memory. Once again 

I '11 fill the cup to the enchanted brim 

And drink it slowly. Yesterday I sat 

From early morn till dark and strove in vain 

To see the face of Death. And in the night 

I dreamed. Methought I stood within this room, 

As on the day when first I saw it grey 

And empty ; o'er my head a single branch 

Of ivy threaded the high wall and hung 

In green possession. And medreamed I stood 

Robed like a necromancer, and with spells 

Called on the name of Death. The wizard's store 

Hung at my girdle, and on this last prize 

I spent it sternly with the desperate hand 

Of him who will be Prince or Beggar — each 

New spell was more tremendous than the last. 

At first there was great silence thro' the cell, 

And then the cell was moved, tho' nothing stirred, 

But under the gross visible I knew 

An inner perturbation, as the crowd 

Before the curtain feel the viewless scene 

Inscrutable which heaves the swaying folds 

That roll the mystery from stage to roof, 

And roof to stage. And then a hush like death ; 

And thro' the hush a somewhat in the air 

Twisting and falling ; and I looked and saw 

The ivy-branch, and all the branch was bare. 

And the broad leaves lay shrivelled on the ground. 

The fourth time the strong silence in the cell 

Was as the straining silence of the rack, 

When the still-tightening torture wrenches him 

Who will not speak. The great veins in my brow 

Throbbed with suppression, and such consciousness 



378 BALDEK. 

I had of coming uproar, rising up 

Thro' the containing stillness — as the fire 

Of jEtna swells under her dark blind hill 

And bursts in desolation — that my lips 

Cried out. As if the sudden whip of Hell 

Flashed on a pack of demons caught asleep, 

The place brake silence, and a naked shriek 

Came thro' the right hand wall and, shrieking, 

passed 
Out on the left, and when I called, returned 
Still shrieking, and so out upon the right. 
And to and fro until my deafened brain 
Reeled, and I fell down flat and slept as dead. 
Then to me, sleeping, in my ear, these words, 
Not as from outer nature yet in voice 
Not mine, tho' nearer to me than the ear 
That heard it, as if in my head the blood 
Along the intricate deep veins did hiss 
A whisper and fled shivering to the heart. 
" Bring me the inflated skin thou callest Life, 
And I will turn the wind-bag inside out 
And clothe me." 

I am not the fool of dreams, 
Tet hold it not incredible that things 
Are seen before their time, and, — as to-night 
In this strange vision, where, while all was still 
I felt the undelivered silence swell — 
Somewhat to be lies in the womb of Now, 
And eyes unstayed by mortal obscuration 
Behold at once the Mother and the Child. 
A white skin and the sweet fair-seeming flesh 
Shut back the common eye-sight ; but there be 
Who looking fast on the unblushed repose 
Of Beauty — where she lieth bright and still 
As some spent angel, dead-asleep in light 
On the most heavenward top of all this world, 
Wing- weary, — seized with sudden trance and 

strong 
Thro' the decorous continent and all 



BALDER. 379 

The charmed defence of Nature can behold 
The circling health beneath them, the red haste 
Of the quick heart, and of her heaving breast 
The cavernous and windy mysteries ; 
Yea, all the creeping secrets of her maw, 
The busy rot within her, and the worm 
That preys upon her vitals. So perchance 
I see the Future in the Present. Or 
If in the smoothest hour of patent nature 
That overhanging weight of Destiny 
Which loads the heavy air do brood on us, 
What wonder that our tenderer substance take 
Impress divine, and show the awful stamp 
And parody of Fate ? 

One can be brave 
At noon, and with triumphant logic clear 
The demonstrable air, but ne'ertheless. 
Sometimes at Hallowe'en when, legends say, 
The things that stir among the rustling trees 
Are not all mortal, and the sick Avhite moon 
Wanes o'er the season of the sheeted dead, 
We grow unreasonable and do quake 
With more than the cold wind. The very soul, 
Sick as the moon, suspects her sentinels. 
And thro' her fortress of the body peers 
Shivering abroad ; our heart-strings over-strung. 
Scare us with strange involuntary notes 
Quivering and quaking, and the creeping flesh 
Knows all the starting horrors of surprise 
But that which makes them, and for that, half-wild, 
Quickens the winking lids, and glances out 
From side to side, as if some sudden chance 
Of vision, some unused slant of the eye, 
Some accidental focus of the sight 
O' th' instant might reveal a peopled world 
Crowding about us, and the empty light 
Alive with phantoms. Doubtless there are no 

ghosts ; 
Yet somehow it is better not to move 



380 



Lest cold hands seize upon us from behind, 
Or forward thro' the dim uncertain time 
Face close with paly face. My ominous Dream 
Leaves me in shuddering incredulity 
As logically white. 



SCENE XV. 

The vacant Study. Through the door the voice of Amy. 

Amy. Out of the dungeon comes the captive's 
cry, 
Whose no man knoweth, nor shall ever know. 
The cry ! the cry ! out of the sealed cell 
That no man may look into, comes a cry !^ 

Up thro' the dumb sod of a churchyard green, 
One of the undistinguishable dead 
Below the many many graves complains. 

The Beloved and the Unbeloved are Ipng there, 
The stifling earth on them. The cry is dull, 
Whose no man knoweth, nor shall ever know. 

Thy cry, thy feeble cry, my little babe ! 
All the long day and all the weary night ! 
I bend me down over the sealed cell. 
And strain my ears against the sodden grave. 
And weep and know not, nor shall ever know. 



381 



SCENE x^^. 

The Study. Balder {solus) at his xcriting-table. 

Balder. Yesterday I said 
That as the lion at the water-brooks 
Prints his dread feet, to-morrow's great event 
Fording our sleep to his appointed place 
Beyond that Rubicon perchance may leave 
His footsteps in the sand. 

'T was but a fancy, 
But in a sleepless night seeking those steps 
Thro' all the inner wilderness, I came 
On other scars and traces, real as rock, 
Familiar too, and terribly historic 
As the carved walls whereon a martyr leaves 
His storied wrongs. 

I see the Poet's heart 
Is but a gem whereon his woe doth cut 
Her image, and he turns upon the world 
And sets his signet there in high wild shapes 
The necessary convex of a wound 
As miserably deep. 

I cannot stamp 
The face of Death upon the universe 
Till Death hath graven the seal. I wait that one 
Last dreadful blazon to fulfil a shield 
Persean ; that being held up to the day 
Shall make mankind my marble. 

Yet how long ? 
Proud Death thou keepest not the company 
Of lowlier pains and griefs. It may require 
A greater light than I have known to cast 
Thine awful shadow. Whom thou visitest 
With thy best pomp, and all the circumstance 
Of special love, are not of those who house 
The common brood of sorrow ; but they seem 
Set up in shine of great prosperity 



382 BALDEK. 

Upon the dial of Time, with one sole shade 
To point the final hour. Yet peradventure 
We who stand out of the sweet sun perceive 
No shadow, not because the shade is less 
But more. Aye, in this twilight atmosphere 
Thou mayst approach unseen as air in air, 
And strike me unaware. But near or far 
I need thee, and in all the strange sad past 
Of my predestined life to say "I need," 
Hath been to move the universal wheels 
In answering motion, which in act I knew 
When the concluding cause and last result 
Of thousands dropped into my open want 
The supplementary fruit. Whether my will 
Hath power on nature, or this heart of mine 
Is so compacted in the frame and work 
Of all things that in various kind they keep 
Attuned performance, I know not. Perhaps 
There comes to each man in his day some word 
Whereto the tacit Visible without, 
Is the foregone conclusion. As amid 
The silent summer eve of violet air 
That which thou seest hath no superscription 
Or title written ; when we speak of it 
'T is with a finger pointed to the sky, 
" Behold ! " as in despair of human speech. 
But lo, if in that moment and the hap 
Of other descant one say " Holiness," 
A pulse of sweet emotions thro' the dark, 
As tho' that somewhat in the mystery 
Responded to a name ! 

Such moments make 
My hours, such hours my days, such days my years. 

[A long pause. 
Who is to die V It is not credible 
That this I have begun should come to end 
For lack of human lives, or that a pang 
Not mortal should fly wide of me ; of me 
Who had I the round earth within mv hand 



BALDKi;. 883 

O'er-popuious as a green water-drop, 
Would swallow it to taste a novel savour. 

[Another pmise. 
If I could give up 
This seasoned body to the advance of death, 
And from my vantage-post within survey 
The slow assault, and mark the victor, held 
In view before the garrisoned approach 
And each well-fought obstruction, and so write 
The story of the siege — aye, while he climbed 
The mound I sat on till the pen fell, struck 
From mine untrembling hand ! But who shall bear 
To the externe and living world, that last 
Convicting record ? What strong sign convey 
Safe thro' the taken barriers, and the close 
Opposing ranks of Death the lineaments 
Which end his long disguise ? No. The same key 
Which let him thro' the circle of the sense 
Would close the gate behind him, and secure 
The first last secret all men hear, and none 
Betray. 

If but to me the privilege 
To know and to declare ! To suffer all 
That in our common nature doth fulfil 
And end perception, with a sense exempt 
From that benign conclusion ! In the arms 
Of health to hold each form of mortal 111, 
Till death should die upon my conscious breast, 
And I by superhuman strength complete 
The sum of human sorrow — God to see. 
And man to suffer ! The unchanged gold 
On the charred bones of the Pompeian bride, 
Tho' it survive the murderous fire, hath felt 
A deadly heat. If I could seize a soul 
And part to part adjust my qualities 
Upon it, so that like to like consort 
Might form a whole whereof the half could die 
And the remainder watch it ! 
(Starting up). You just gods, 



384 BALD Kit. 

Is it not thus already — you good gods — 

[He icalks in (jreat ayitatioii. 

(Sits again). A thought stood at the threshold of 

my ht'art 
And sliut the light out. It has past, and I 
Have not yet half beheld it. But I know 
That as its shadow came along the way 
I looked up, and the valley and the hills 
A moment swerved and failed, and as a smoke 
Rolled over in a wind of coming death. 

[ Thi'ouffh the door is heard the voice of Amy. 
Armj. If thou wouldst sleep, my babe, if thou 
wouldst sleep 
And weary of the never-ending day ! 
Thou hast not milked me of my sorrow, babe, 
Why must thou moan and watch and wake like me ? 

My babe, my babe, is it not well with thee V 
And if not well, the end is come indeed. 

My place was dark, and o'er a darker place 
A great hand held me that I could not see. 

Below us the dark gulph, for ever deep. 

Above us, thro' the dark, a light of day, 

And thou wert as a jewel on my breast. 

Sweet shining in the light that lit not me. 

The hand is weary with upholding me ! 

If ill hath touched thee, babe, we are given o'er, . 

Given o'er and dropt, a pillage and a prey ! 

Ah ! in the dark gulph what shall not seize thee ! 

If thou wouldst sleep, my babe, if thou wouldat 

sleep. 
Nor scare me with the mystery of thine eyes ! 

Alas, thy parted lips, my babe, my babe ! 
Alas, the hot breath from the cankered rose ! 
Alas, the little limbs ! Alas, the heart 



BALDER. 385 

That beateth like a wounded butterfly ! 

My babe, my babe, what hath befallen thee ? 

I see it all ; I see, I see it all ! 

How couldst thou lie upon my breast and live ? 

The doom has run its date, the hour is here ! 

Not enough, babe, oh ! not enough, my babe, 

That I who was the favourite and the flower, 

Bruised and beaten by a thousand ills. 

As to the utter shelter and mere shed 

Of this great gilded palace-world did creep 

With thee, not wholly lost since thou wert not, 

Nor in my desolation desolate. 

Because the glory could not give thee more 

Than me, or the bare walls of sorrow less. 

My babe, it was too good for thee and me, 
God hath abandoned us, and from His home 
Is driving forth the mother and her child. 

My child, my child, the wolf is in the way, 
And what if he doth choose the suckling lamb ? 
Hush babe, my little babe, my only babe, 
That I might die for thee, my babe, my babe ! 

Balder {sinking his head into his hands). So 
soon, so soon ! My lamb, my lily-bud. 
My little babe ! My daughter, oh my daughter ' 

[A long pause. 
{Looking up). Yes, I redeem the mother with the 

child ! 
Fate, take thy price ! If this hand shakes to pay it, 
'T is with the trembling eagerness of him 
Who buys an Indian kingdom with a bead. 
'T is past. I rise up childless, but no less 
Than I. There was one bolt in all the heavens 
Which falling on my head had with a touch 
Rent me in twain. This bursting water-spout 
Hath left me whole, but naked. Better so 
25 



o86 BALDER. 

Than to be cloven in king's raiment. Aye, 
My treasure-house is broken, and I lose 
"What nothing can restore, and poorer men 
Had held to the last drop of desperate blood. 
But I, vvho know the secrets of the place, 
Breathe freely when I learn the worst, and find 
The felon sought no further. 

Yet my babe ! 
Mv tiny babe ! — 



SCENE XVIT. 

The Study. Balder, solus. Through the dooi- comes a 
sound of iveeping. 

Balder. My heart doth beat. 
But I am calm, calm as a winter tree 
Whereon one dead leaf flutters in the wind. 
The waters of my soul that swelled so high, 
Broke up my deeps and filled my universe. 
Have sunk to such a mirror as reflects 
The heaven and earth, and makes whatever face 
Bends anew o'er them out of the unknown 
A part of all things. Now I cannot weep. 
I have climbed out o' the thunder, and most cold ■ 
Upon the heights of everlasting snow 
Stand with cherubic knowledge. 

This hot breast 
Seems valley deep, and what the wind of Fate 
Strikes on that harp strung there to bursting, I, 
Descending, mean to catch as one unmoved 
In stern notation. A strange sense of sight. 
Fearless that lightning-like finds easiest way 
Self-warranted where way is none, makes wide 
Mine eyes that could look thro' into the depths 
Behind the face of God. 



BALDEK. oSl 

'T is well. Even so 
Would I meet Death. 

[Exit through the door of the adjoining room. 



SCENE XVIII. 

The Study. Balder, solus. 

Balder. If to the long mysterious trance of death 
There be immortal waking, he who lifts 
His head from the clay pillow, and doth stretch 
Eternal life thro' all his quickening limbs, 
And conscious on his opening orbs receives 
Remembered light, and rises to be sure 
He hath revived indeed, tastes in that first 
Best moment what the infinite beyond 
Can never give again. 

I should awake 
On some such resurrection, having lived 
Thro' what I feared was mortal, and endured 
That most malignant hour which must or close 
The perilous adventure, or, being forced, 
Admit to happier times. 

The ground grows firm 
Beneath ; the elfin atmosphere of spells 
That smit these limbs with palsy, has given place 
To vital air. I smell the native world. 
The fortress of the last enchanter yiehls ; 
My life is free before me. I am strong : 
I shall survive, subdue, surmount, attain ! 
Thou mystery, which dost attend my voice 
Like a tame beast, and goest in and out 
AVhene'er I will, and liest at my feet. 
Come let me paint the picture I have bought 
So dearly, but, being painted, Avill hold cheap, 
Aye, tlio' I rent it at the yearly eo. !; 



388 BALDKK. 

Of such an annual tribute ! Here ! Be here ! 
He comes. Even now this black environment 
Grows cold with his approach ; and as on one 
Benighted in the forest dreadful eyes 
Shine thro' the dark, and Somewhat unbeheld 
Draws nigh, thro' the thick darkness of my night 
I see thine eyes, oh Death ! 

[ Takes pen and paper, in attitude to write. The mice 
of Amy comes through the door. 

Amy. That I might die and be at rest, oh God ! . 
That I might die and sleep the sleep of peace ; 
That I might die and close these eyes within 
That shut not when the outer lids are sealed ; 
That I might die and know the balm of death 
Cool thro' my loosened limbs ; tliat I might die. 
That I might die and stretch me out unracked, 
And feel but as I died what is not pain. 

It is dead midnight, and the time to sleep. — 
My light has gone out in the dead midnight ; 
All things are equal in the utter dark ; 
I cannot see my way upon the world. 

All in the dark a tempest beateth me, 
Black waves out of the north and of the south, 
Black waves out of the east and of the west. 
Black falling waves that drench me from the sky ! 

On every side the waters lash me round, 

And lift me till I know not where I stood. 

And wist not where is earth or where is heaven ! 

[Listening, he/alls into a reverie. 

Balder. Little babe, 

Who wentest out from us two days ago 
Not to return, what has become of thee 
In this great universe ? That thou art changed 
I know ; for whereas thou hadst lain since birth 



BALDEK. 389 

On the warm breast that fed thee in a dream 
Of peace, and, like a flower, wert given and ta'en 
Unconscious, on a morn thou didst awake, 
And while we weeping strove to keep thee, thou, 
As at some awful voice that called thee hence 
On high behest, becamest a man in will, 
And ceasing thy babe's cry didst go in haste ! 
We also went a little way with thee. 
As they whose best-beloved doth cross the seas 
Attend him to the shore — even to the brink 
Of the great deep, and stretch along the sands 
Wringing vain hands of sorrow ; yet none saith 
" Why goest thou V " nor with naked sword of love 
Denies ; and none doth leap into his fate, 
Crying " I also," and with desperate clasp 
Hang on his neck till breakers far behind 
Forbid return. Spell-bound they stand and dry 
On the sea-line, and not a quivering lip 
Murmureth '■'■ To-morrow ; " but his sire doth seize 
The prow that would recede, and with stern will 
Holds it, rebellious, to the task, and she 
Who bore him, with her tears and trembling hands 
Constrains and hastes him lest he lose the tide. 

So also in a dream as one who walks 
Asleep, and with her sunk eye on a star 
Kising doth take her slumbering babe, and o'er 
The snows of midnight to the precipice 
Paceth with silent purpose, doubting nought, 
And turneth on the brink, with empty hands, 
And to her bed unconscious, nor till morn 
Beholds the vacant pillow — and, well-known. 
Her foot-prints, — passionate ; we went with thee. 
And did return alone. My babe, my babe, 
What have we done ? At whose sufficient pledge. 
Upon whose testimony, and well-sworn 
Assurance have we left thee, and believed ? 
Did I go down before thee ? Did I try 
The unventured way ? With which hand did I 
smooth 



390 BALDER. 

Thy pillow ? Or with what nice care explore 

The grave which in my trance I called thy bed ? ::^- 

Thy bed ? wert thou so cradled ? Doth the boor H 

Upon the hungry common save his hide 

By such a lodging as thou in thy pomp 

Didst enter, while the sable priest gave thanks, 

And praised the long home where he would not/ 

chain 
His dog ? Thy home, poor babe ? Bah ! the 

stone den 
Of murder is more human ; the dank keep 
Of felon anguish built to house despair 
Hath not a cell so rude ! [Muses. 

Was it a door 
From this most ordered world into the waste 
Of all things ? Have we shut thee forth, poor 

child, 
And Avist not of thy journey, nor the end 
And exit of that gloomy subterrene 
Which thou didst enter, and whose unknown mouth 
May be in Chaos ? This, the upper gate, 
Was fair, and, hanging o'er, the flowers looked 

down 
After thee going, shedding many dews 
That went as falling stars into the gulph, 
A moment bright like thee. But, oh thou babe, 
What of the nether port, which thou hast reached 
Who Avert so swift to go ? We shut thee in 
As to a chamber of rest, and did confirm 
The outer bars, and on the adit set 
The seal of Hermes, and o'er all dispread 
The cheerful turf, and sowed it round with spring. 
Mad faith ! — false father ! — customary fool ! — 
Tool of low instinct and obsequious use ! — 
Curse thee, Wind slave ! why didst thou leave her 

thus 
In her worst need ? Who, who shall certify 
Her rest ? And thou, oh mother, that didst plunge 
So boldly into the vexed flood of Hfe, 



BALDEK. 391 

Holding thy babe aloft, with thy right hand, 
Braving the billows ; what unseen sea-scourge 
Had struck thee, that thou too didst bow thine 

head 
A-sudden succourless, and hast gone down 
As others ? Doth no voice out of the ground, 
Up thro' the music of the grasshoppers 
Smite thee ? Whence, mother, had thy nursling 

child 
This gift to sleep alone V Whence knowest thou, 
Oh mother, who in its long dying swoon 
Didst warm it in thy bosom, and forfend 
The summer wind, and kiss the tenderness 
Of years upon its momentary brow. 
And with the wild haste of thy maddened eyes 
Course heaven and earth, as to glean anywhere 
One help forgotten ; and at the last breath 
Distraught and bending over it didst break 
Thy life upon it, if perchance that balm 
Might heal ; and ere it died wert as one dead 
With dread of ill, whence knowest thou what 

change 
Absolves thy care ? What thunder or what bush 
Of burning spake to thee when thou didst rise 
And veil thy face, and, unresisting, feel 
The child go from thee out into the rains 
And dews, and didst kneel silent while we threw 
Cold earth upon it, and piled up that wall 
Which late compunction and awakening throes. 
Pangs of reproach and passion of despair, 
And starting eyes mocked by the empty world, 
And famished breasts convulsed when nights are 

chill, 
And stretched-forth arms that waste with vacancy, 
And all the tumult of the desperate heart 
That leaps to the impossible desire 
And unsurrendered bliss, can pass no more ? 



392 



SCENE XIX. 

The Study. Balder at his wHiinff-tabk, preparing to wnie, 
when the voice o/'Amy comes through the open door. 

Amy. My heart is shivered as a fallen cup, 
And all the golden wine is in the earth. 

My heart is stricken, and it cannot heal. 
Tho' thou art but a little grave I know 
Oh little grave, it will bleed into thee 
For evermore, and thou wilt not be filled. 
The fountains of my fate are dry ; my soul 
Is dying in the famine of my lot. 
I am a dead leaf in a wintry wind ; 
My stem is broken from the tree of life, 
I wither in the sun and in the air, 
I wither in the rain and in the dews. 

And though the wind doth throw me on the tree, 
Oh wind ! thou canst not bind what thou didst 

break ; 
I wither in the verdure of the leaves. — 
Beneath my window built the nightingale ; 
Ah cruel, who despoiled her happy nest ! 
And in his wanton gripe he crushed her egg, 
Her one lone egg ; — so doth Fate crush my heart. 

The spring returns unto the nightingale, 
The nightingale shall find a happier tree ; 
The ravished nest must drift upon the day. 
The wind shall toss it as an idle straw. 
The rain shall tread its ruins to the earth. 
And I am all despoiled for evermore. 

[He rises sorroivj'ully, and shuts the docn^. 

Balder. How often our twin passions do ex- 
change 



BALDKK. 8!»,S 

Fraternal uses, and alike in face 

But opposite in sex, confound the eye 

That reckons on their valour, or makes bold 

Upon presumptive weakness, nor descries 

The pious counterfeit when manly strength 

Presents meek maidenhead, or female parts 

Complete the heroic brow, and she who lacks 

So mucli of manhood plights her faith as man. 

Or strong Sebastian's virile arm redeems 

The gage of virgin Viola. To-day 

My grief — like one who crossed in hapless love 

Betakes him to the wars, and tells in blows 

His bitter need of kisses — speaks with A-oice 

Of fiery wrath. \_Writes and then reads. 

Lo, Justice ! and led in 
By History, as by a little child. 
She, moving as a goddess, slow drew nigh 
Three adverse forms and human to behold. 
Each a Colossus ; Insolence, and Fraud, 
And Malice. These approaching her, advanced 
A step, and drew their several weapons. One 
With voice hke a cracked trumpet, and too loud 
For that he said ; and one with whisper dire. 
Like the great ghost of a great sound, as large 
But bodiless ; the third as still as death. 
They came : then Justice, lifting up her hand, 
" Back to your shapes ! " The three lell down 

headlong. 
The first a Cur deformed, of monstrous birth, 
With head that Parthian-like still looked behind 
And fled from what he hurt ; the next a Spider, 
Gaunt black and lean, full of unnatural eyes 
Detestable ; the third a reeking Toad. 
Bare in the day, these, or with horrid whine 
Slunk to the earth, or crouched in dark and foul 
Discovery, or swat a cancerous pool 
Of poison, and lay hid. But Justice spake : 

" Because ye did your will uj^on the weak. 



394 BALDER. 

Because ye bad no pity on the poor, 

Because your hands were quick to stab the fallen, :; 

Because ye made your pillage of the slain ; 

Because ye lay in ambush for the brave, 
Because ye stole by night upon the good, 
Because ye dug a pitfall for the true ; 

Because ye overcried the voice of Right, 
Because ye clapped your hands when strong men 

lied. 
Because ye smote the cheek of innocence, 
And spat your fetid spume in Wisdom's face ; 

Because being bestial, ye bewitched men's eyes 
To see my sons as beasts, and ye as men ; 

Because in all your sins ye knew your sin. 
And saw me while ye sware that I was not. 
And heard me thro' the clamour of your tongues, 
And shouted more lest men should see ye shake ; 

Because my sons have spoken in mine ears, 
And all ye did to them of old I know ; 

Because, accursed ! they shall not defile 
Their hands to slay you, since with such as ye 
'T were equal shame to be at peace or Avar ; 

Because outcast from heaven, and earth, and hell, 
Detect, disowned, detested, and despised. 
There is no power to which ye can be true, 
And Satan cannot trust ye more than God, 
1 come ! " She wrenched the bandage from her 

eyes. 
And looked on them : — and — as the summer bolt 
Falls in the forest on the gathered leaves 
Of winter, and they start into a flame 
Out of their empty place, — a kindling fire 



BALDEK. 395 

Consumed them, and a sudden rolling smoke 
Showed they had been. And lo ! from out the 

smoke 
I saw the grim and clanking skeleton 
Of the dead dog, licked bare to the white bones, 
Run as alive. With skull revert, and jaws 
That may not cease to move, but make no sound, 
He flees for ever o'er the startled earth, 
A terror and a si^n. 



SCENE XX. 

The vacant Study. Through the door the voice of Amy. 

Amy. Oh wounded dove, oh dove with broken 
wing. 
Oh dying dove, wert thou not beautiful ? 
Why didst thou hide thee, trembler, from the day, 
And stram into the crevice of the cliff. 
And press thy beating breast against the hill, 
As if the rock should ope and let thee in ? 

I took thee to my heart, oh snow-white dove, 

I would have kissed and kissed thee o'er and o'er, 

But' thou wert fierce with fear, and with wild eyes 

Didst turn upon me like a frantic maid 

That struggles with a lover in the dark, 

Bruising the hands that would have cherished her, 

And gnashing on the lips that seek her own. 

Oh dove, I also fall with broken wing, 
I also strive and turn upon my fate. 
And strike the inevitable hands in vain. 
I also strain my bosom to the earth, 
The earth that will not ope and let me in. 



396 HALDER. 

SCENE XXI. 
The vacant Study. Through the door the voice of Amy. 

Atny. That I might only die and be at rest, 
That i might die and sleep the sleep of peace, 
That I might die and close these eyes within. 
These eyes that start and stare so hot with life, 
And mad-wide while the outer lids are sealed ! 
That I might die and know the balm of death, 
And feel but as I died what is not pain. 

The summer is a load upon my sense, 

A pile of durance builded over head ; 

The battening shadow, and the fattening earth, 

And all the thick abundance of the trees ! 

Fall, Summer ! rend the cerements of my tomb ! 
If I might know that aught that binds can break ! 
If I might struggle thro' my choking bands. 
And cheat me with the transport that I rise ! 
Alas, thou fallest, and I am not free ! 
Alas, alas, thou canst not let me forth ! 
Alas, alas, the grave-clothes, not the grave ! 
Alas, alas, the vaulted adamant. 
And dolour of inexorable things ! 



SCENE XXII. 

~The vacant Study. Through the door the voice of Amy. 

Amy. Swallow, that yearly art blown round the 
world. 
What seekest thou that never may be found ? 
Whither for ever sailins: and to sail ? 



397 



1 think the gulphs have sucked thine haven down, 
And thou still steerest for the vanished strand. 
What cheer, what cheer, oh fairy marinere 
Of windy billows, sea-mew of the air ? 
The viewless oceans wash thee to and fro, 
Spout thee to Heaven, and dive thee to the deep. 
Swallow ! I also seek and do not find. 



SCENE XXIII. 

The court-yard of the Tower. Balder, solus. Enter 
Dr. Paul. 

Balder. Doctor ! 

Doctor. You 're well ? My patient ? 

Balder. Only now 

She went to sit beside the little grave. 
Prithee, friend, wait awhile. It were ill-done 
So soon to follow. 

Doctor. Is this pilgrimage 

A manner with her ? 

Balder. Thou may'st even trace 

The path her feet have worn across the mead 
Straight from our threshold. Many times a day 
She rises up as who should hear a sound 
Far off. I have gone with her hour by hour, 
And still she hath the step of expectation, 
Kneels by the Avoful mound and leans her ear 
Upon the earth, lifts her wan cheek with flush 
And gesture of surprise, feels one by one 
The gaps and junctures of the ungrown sod 
As 't were new broken, and anon doth shake 
Her piteous head, and look into my face 
As if I wronged her ; and so home in haste 
Unresting. But she watcheth night and day 
To steal unnoticed forth, and then she stays 



398 BALDEK. 

Till some one lead her homeward. Drawing nigh 

Beneath the twilight I perceive she sits 

Upon a neighbouring stone, and by her lips 

I think she sings, slow swaying to and fro, 

As one who rocks a child. I give her way 

For fancy, — like the image that our boors 

Set by their kine, — doth milk her of her tears, 

And loose the terrible unsolved distress 

Of tumid Nature. Under observance 

She hath been silent since that mortal hour ; 

Lying close like a toiled bird, that with wide eyes 

Is mute and strange, but, being alone, lets forth 

Its sad wild cry. 

Paul, I have heard that cry 
Twice lately in the dark, here, where wo sit ! 
How I have been so long both deaf and blind 
Confounds invention, but my sense at last 
Is opened, and I do perceive this ill 
Is not a growth of yesterday. They tell 
In sea tales of deaf men made whole amid 
The roar of battle, who go forthwith mad, 
Wild with the naked torment of the bruised 
Unseasoned function. I do think my case 
Is such a thunderous healing. What I hear 
Strikes through the feeble garment of the flesh. 
And stuns the very soul. My book stands still. 
I am no carpet knight, and in my time 
Have known hard knocks, but, callous as I am, 
This breaks endurance. 

Since the malady 
That racked her, three short summers since, I held 
Her sorrows to be no more than the toys 
And creatures of a tender melancholy. 
The honey-droppings of an atmosphere 
So delicate that every mist and whiff 
Which sails a grosser sky came down in rain. 
But this is hell, and the infernal fall 
Of burning snow. 



liALDKK. 399 

Doctor. Poor thing, poor thing, poor thing ! 

How long think you ? 

Balder. An hour ? 

Doctor. If it must be. 

We men of drug and scalpel still are men 
And have our feelings. I call us the gnomes 
Of science, miners who scarce see the light 
Working within the bowels of the world 
Of beauty. 

Balder. But your toil, like theirs, gives wealth 
And warmth, and glory, to a fairer sphere, 
Brings forth the golden wonder, which in hand 
Of prince or clown, of poet or of fool. 
Is standard still ; lights up the common hearth 
Of household joy familiar, and makes bright 
The jewelled front of kings. 

Doctor. Ah, my good friend, 

I was a poet once, and thought strange things. 
Very strange things. How 1 would walk alone 
And mutter in my going, dare the heavens 
As thus ! clap sudden hand upon my brow, 
Hold up a finger and cry hist ! to the air. 
Walk you a mile bareheaded in the rain, 
Stop, gaze the ground, stamp like a bull, and sigh, 
Sigh like a painted Boreas ! or in fierce 
Obstetric frenzy of the labouring Muse, 
Collar the astonished wayfarer with " Sir, 
Your tablets ! " scare the woodman's hut with 

calls 
For pen and paper, or make eloquent 
The graphic bark of beech. Ah, those days when 
I courted Sophonisba, long ago, 
And we two loved the moonlight and wrote verses ! 
It melts my very heart to think on 't ! 

Balder. Love 

Makes us all poets. Each man in his turn, 
At culmination of one happy hour 
Consummate of some sole and topmost day 
Hath his apotheosis. Nature thus, 



400 BALDKR. 

Ere she send forth her mintage to the world, 

Assays it for eternity, and sets 

The stamp of sterling manhood. From the mount 

Of high transfiguration you come down 

Into your common life-time, as the diver 

Breathes upper air a moment ere he plunge, 

And, by mere virtue of that moment, lives 

In breathless deeps and dark. We poets dwell 

Upon the height, saying, as one of old, 

'' Let us make tabernacles : it is good 

To be here." 

Doctor. Out of mortal sight ! Aye, you 

Live to posterity. 

Balder. Your pardon ; no ! 

Doctor. To the mere present ? 

Balder. No. I do not scorn 

Fame, and those wide and calmer after days 
Where Time's thick flood grows quiet, letting 

down 
Its golden grains to be the jealous wealth 
Of nations ; but I choose to say, " I live 
To God and to myself." Of God I know 
Little to satisfy a human heart 
So fashioned to adore Him ; of myself 
Still less, yet somewhat ; of posterity 
This only, — that in circling cycles, come 
AVhat will come on the ever-rolling years. 
The Ages will not outlive a true man 
And his Divine Creator. 

Doctor. Well, well, poet, 

If love makes heroes it makes fools. And Na- 
ture, 
If, as you say, fresh from that crucible, 
She marks us current, full as often signs 
The cap of Momus as the bay of Cassar. 
Were you but where I am, and with my eyes 
Saw as I see to what this love can bring 
Men down. 

Balder. Not love, but passion, the mere dance 



BALDER. 401 

Of' this gross body to the soul's sweet singing, 
Which you mistake for love, because sometimes 
The singer, high and pale, descends to join 
(With haughtier step as consciously a god) 
The Paphian measure of his mortal twin. 
And strange reflection of the glowing flesh 
Doth flush the soul. 

Doctor. I have walked far. 

Balder. We 'II enter — 

From the high window in the turret there, 
I see the churchyard in the dale. 

Doctor. Dost spend 

The day in watching ? 

Balder. I keep vigil on her 

As any star behind his golden face 
Spends his great gifts upon his proper world, 
And lights us with an idle faculty. 

[ They enter the Tvwer, and mount to the Study. 

Doctor. A poet's studio ! I have often passed 
The lintel of your home, but ne'er before 
The threshold of its penetralia. I 
Long to behold your gods. 

Balder. Expect none, Paul. 

Doctor. How ? 

Balder. Expect none, my friend, if seeing me 
Thou hast seen none. My word on it JEneas 
Is godless, or " Penatiger ^neas." 

Doctor. Thou Pagan ! why the room is an 



Olymp 



niDUS 



Balder. Olympus' top is a long way from heaven. 

Doctor. From heaven say you ? The mason, 
by my count, 
Is greater than the house, and I perceive 
That old Italian, whose Uranian pride 
When his great prince had forfeited the skies, 
Built him another heaven, and filled the dome 
With angels, like the first. 

Balder. Aye, dauntless Michael, 

Who drew the Judgment, in some daring hope 
26 



102 HALDKK. 

That, seeing it, the <i;ods could not depart 
From so divine a pattern. 

Doctor. Ah ! thou, too, 

Sad Alighieri, like a waning moon 
Setting in storm behind a grove of bays ! 

Balder. Yes, the great Florentine, who wove 
his web 
And thrust it into hell, and drew it forth 
Immortal, having burned all that could burn, 
And leaving only what shall still be found 
Untouched, nor with the smell of fire upon it, 
Under the final ashes of this world. 
Doctor. Sliakspeare and Milton ! 
Balder. Switzerland and home. 

1 ne'er see Milton, but I see the Alps, 
As once sole standing on a peak supreme, 
To the extremest verge summit and gulph 
I saw, height after depth. Alp beyond Alp, 
O'er which the rising and the sinking soul 
Sails into distance, heaving as a ship 
O'er a great sea that sets to strands unseen. 
And as the mounting and descending bark 
Borne on exulting by the under deep-, 
Gains of the wild wave something not the wave, 
Catches a joy of going, and a will 
Resistless, and upon the last lee foam 
Leaps into air beyond it, so the soul 
Upon the Alpine ocean mountain-tost. 
Incessant carried up to heaven, and plunged 
To darkness, and still wet with drops of death 
Held into light eternal, and again 
Cast down, to be again uplift in vast 
And infinite succession, cannot stay 
The mad momentum, but in frenzied sight 
Of horizontal clouds and mists and skies 
And the untried Inane, springs on the surge 
Of things, and passing matter by a ibrce 
Material, thro' vacuity careers, 
Rising and falling. 



FJAIJ)KH. 403 

Doctor. And my Shakspeare ! Call 

Milton your Alps, and which is he amonnj 
The tops of Andes ? Keep }our Paradise, 
And Eves, and Adains, but give me the Earth 
That Shakspeare drew, and make it grave and gay 
With Shakspeare's men and women ; let me laugh 
Or weep with them, and you — a wager, — aye, 
A wager by my faith — either his muse 
Was the recording angel, or that hand 
Cherubic which fills up the Book of Life, 
Caught Avhat the last relaxing gripe let fall 
By a death -bed at Stratford, and henceforth 
Holds Shakspeare's pen. Kow strain your sinews, 

poet, 
And top your Pelion, — Milton Switzerland, 
And English Shakspeare — 

Balder. This dear English land ! 

This happy England, loud with brooks and birds, 
Shining with harvests, cool with dewy trees, 
And bloomed from hill to dell ; but whose best 

flowers 
Are daughters, and Ophelia still more fair 
Than any rose she weaves; whose noblest floods 
The pulsing torrent of a nation's heart ; 
Whose.forests stronger than her native oaks 
Are living men ; and whose unfathomed lakes 
For ever calm the unfbrgotten dead 
In quiet graveyards willowed seemly round, 
O'er which To-day bends sad, and sees his face. 
Whose rocks are rights, consolidate of old 
Thro' unremembered years, around whose base 
The ever-sui-ging peoples roll and roar 
Perpetual, as around her cliffs the seas 
That only wash them whiter ; and whose moun- 
tains. 
Souls that from this mere footing of the earth 
Lift their great virtues thro' all clouds of Fate 
Up to the very heavens, and make them rise 
To keep the gods above us ! 



404 BALDKR. 

Doctor. Your hand on it ! 

Balder. The wicket swings, how now ? 

Doctor. A tattered man. 

Balder. I must go down — 

Doctor. An aged peasant woman, 

A chubby child beside her ; by my soul 
The rosy blossom and the withered crab, 
Both on one bough ! who are they? 

Balder. Pensioners*, 

Doctor. Your's ? 

Balder. Her's. 

Doctor. Some say the ilhmiining sun is dark ; 
But poor as you are — 

Balder. Is this blossom sweet '? 

Doctor. Most fragrant ! 

Balder. Yet I plucked it on a rock 

Where common grass had died. Learn this, my 

friend, 
The secret that doth make a flower a flower, 
So frames it that to bloom is to be sweet. 
And to receive to give. The flower can die, 
But cannot change its nature ; though the earth 
Starve it, and the reluctant air defraud, 
No soil so sterile and no living lot 
So poor but it hath somewhat still to spare 
In bounteous odours. Charitable they 
Who, be their having more or less, .so have 
That less is more than need, and more is less 
Than the great heart's goodwill. 

Here are books, here 
A picture, still unpacked, from the great city, 
Sent b}' an early college friend, who vows 
A pilgrimage to these old hills ; and there 
(Arrived this morning from the muse knows where) 
That strange sweet mystery, the early scrawl 
Of young Ambition. Genius is born blind ; 
See how the nursling fumbles for the dug, 
Lipping each barren likeness ; now distent 
As limpet on a rock, and sucking hard 



HALDKH. 405 

The east-wind, and now drawing with a touch 
Nectar for gods ; 't will help the hour on — 
{Going?) Stay ! 

Paul, thou art somewhat of an antiquary ; 
Let these walls entertain thee ; at thy leisure 
Spell out these parchments, which my chamberlain, 
The spider, deems too bare for such a presence, 
And with his orfrays and embroidery 
Decks an' I will or no. To my heart, Paul, 
The mouldering stones of this old tottering tower 
Are not more ancient; this, for all I feel, 
Might be the dust of centuries ! 

Doctor. What are they '? 

Balder. Listen : when we came here, a bridal 
pair, 
Joyous and young and poor, I took this room 
For mine, the forge in which to beat my gifts 
To the white heat that lights and warms the world ; 
And so I left it bare. AV'e had small store. 
And that I spent on her's. But still she came, 
And sat beside me at her daily tasks 
In happy silence ; then I said " not here ! " 
But she said " here ! " and kissed me ; oh those 

days ! 
She was so fair 

Doctor. She teas '( 

Balder. She is ; she was 

So fair, so delicately bred ; I saw 
Her there, and all the strong unseemly place 
Disturbed me. " Oh for cloth of gold," I cried, 
" To make a palace for thee ! " But she smiled. 
When she came in I felt the cold grey air 
Strike her like stone, and when she walked me- 

thought, 
Oft as she passed between me and the wall, 
The rudeness of the unhewn and jagged rock. 
Albeit that bodily it touched her not. 
Harried her beauty ; and, whene'er she sat 
Looking her sweet content, stern histories 



406 BALDER. 

Sank from the dark roof thro' the duiifreon day, 
And fell upon her ftice like grinding dust 
Upon the apple of mine eye. She knew 
My trouble, saying, " Where thou art, to me 
Heaven arches o'er thee, and I dwell in tents 
Of azure ; but, my husband ! as thou wilt. 
Nevertheless, nqt silver and not gold, 
Silver and gold are not for me or thee ; 
But oh, my poet husband ! what thou hast 
Give me." And so I hung the room with Thought. 
Morning and noon, and eve and night, and all 
The changing seasons ; scenes, or new or old, 
Strange faces and familiar ; forms of men 
Or gods in valleys deep, or mountains high ; 
And how she loved them ! Tarry till I come. 

[ Goes. 
Docto)' (unfolding a scroll). What's here? sad 
heart ! some withered primroses ! 
(Reads.) " Spring, who did scatter all her wealth 

last year, 
Had gone to heaven for more ; and coming back 
Flower-laden after three full seasons, found 
The Earth, her mother, dead. 

" Far off, appalled 
With the unwonted pallor of her face. 
She flung her garlands down, and caught, distract, 
The skirts of passing tempests, and thro' wilds 
Of frozen air fled to her, all uncrowned 
With haste, — a bunch of snowdrops in her breast, 
Her charms dishevelled, and her cheeks as white 
As winter with her woe.' She fell upon 
The corse, and warmed it. The maternal Earth, 
AVhich was not dead, but slept, unclosed her eyes. 
Then Spring, o'erawed at her own miracle, 
Fell on her knees ; and then she smiled and wept. 
Meanwhile the attendant birds her haste outstripped, 
Chasing her voice, crowd round and fill the air 
With jocund loyalty; and eager winds 
Her suitors, at full speed with Love and wild, 



KALDEK. 407 

Hie by her in the histy cheer of March, 

CryinjT her name. Laughed Spring to see them 

pass, 
— Laughing in tears. Then it repented her 
To see the old parental limbs of Earth 
Lie stark as death ; and fared she forth alone 
To where she left her burden in the void 
Beyond the south horizon ; her fair hair 
Streaming spring clouds among the vernal stars. 
Returning, slow with flowei's, she dressed the Earth, 
Which had sat up, and, being naked, blushed, 
And stretched her conscious arms to meet the 

Spring, 
Who breathed upon her face, and made her young. 
Then did her mother Earth rejoice in her ; 
And she with filial love and joy admired, 
Weeping and trembling in the wont of maids. 
Meantime her pious fame had filled the skies ; 
He that begat her, the almighty Sun, 
Passing in regal state, did call her " child," 
And blessed her and her mother where they sat — 
Her by the imposition of bright hands. 
The Earth with kisses. Then the Spring would go, 
Abashed with bliss, decorous in the face 
Of love parental. But the Earth stood up, 
And held her there ; and, them encircling, came 
All kind of happy shapes that wander space, 
Brightening the air. And they two sang like gods 
Under the answering heavens." 

Doctor {unrolling another scroW). Here Summer, 
(reach.) " Summer, 

Mother of gods and men, with equal face 
Unchangeable, and such wide eyes divine 
As on the Athenian hill-top Phidian Jove 
Inherited ; whose universal sense 
Seems made with ampler vision to behold 
A larger world than ours. She leans in light 
On rose-leaves, as a long and lazy cloud 
Leans on the broad bed of the blushing west. 



40b BALDEK. 

In her right hand a horn of plenty, red 
With fragrant fruits exuberant ; in her left 
The early harvest ; crowned with oak and ash, 
Her hot feet slippered in the calid seas. 
Her voice is like the murmur of the floods 
Sluggard with noon, or the thick-leaved response 
Of sultry forests to the languid winds 
Dull with the dog-days." 

Nay, no more ; one knows 
This better out of doors. Now Autumn ! blow 
A windy morning, and a whirr of wings. 

[ Unrolling another scroll, reads. 
" He stands beside a throne of golden hills, 
And up the steep steps of the royal throne 
The burdened forests climb like countless slaves 
Laden with gold. He stands and heeds them not; 
Meanwhile his hand, with air abstract and wan, 
From the abounding tribute of the earth 
Scatters imperial largesse. All her fields 
Are his ; they own their lord ; his barns are full, 
His rivers run with wine, and his red plains 
Shout with the vintage. Yet he stands beside 
His golden throne, and looketh up to heaven, 
And sigheth in the melancholy winds. 
And smileth sweeter sadness. He hath learned 
The lesson of power ; therefore his locks are sere, 
Therefore there is no light in the sunk eyes* 
Which day and night reproach the sun and stars 
With the unsated hunger of a soul 
That is no richer tho' the" world be won." 

Too sentimental ! He should take a license 
To kill game. — 
(Unrolling another scroll.) Autumn still ? Corpodi 

Baccho ! 
A metamorphosis ! " The Death of Autumn ! " 

[Reads. 
" Sometimes an aged king upon his bed, 
He dieth 'mid the conscious hush of all 
His reverent realm, and silent snows him wind. 



IJALDEli. 409 

Or, haply, at midnight a choir of winds 
Chanting great antliems, bear him to his rest. 
And sometimes doing battle with his fate, 
A wreathed wrestler from a gorge of wine. 
He falls in pride ; a giant in his blood, 
Dashed with the purple feast as to his robes 
Of azure triumph and his golden crown 
Olympic, while his dying eye on fire 
Brings a red glow into the cheeks of Death, 
His ghastly foe, and his felled stature shakes 
The sounding halls. 

- " And sometimes as a maid 

Dead aud undone, the pale and drowned year 
Lies still and silent on the mortal shore. 
With dank unmeaning lips and siirhtless eyes 
Ooze-filled, and blanch limbs stark and stifi' beyond 
The draggled robes soaked with a colder death. 
And sometimes as a trusting maid who waits 
Her far false lover, and thro' long lone hours 
Expects in vain, but as the sun goes down, 
Chilled with the bitter day where love is not. 
Blighted and nmte, astoniecl beyond speech, 
Stands utterless ; while all within is changed 
From life to death, and under that pale breast 
Unheaving and those glittering eyes transacts 
The alchemy of ruin. Nor she weeps, 
Nor starts, nor shrieks, nor throws her arms to 

heaven. 
But motionless and crimson with her wrong- 
Dies in her silence, and falls still as leaves 
Thro' stiller air." 

Enough. Shall I try Winter ? 
[ Unrolling another scroll, ftads. 
" Who is he 

That o'er green pastures of the latter year. 
And on the mountain-tops, and through the woods 
Passeth amid the pageant of the worhl 
Silent and ceaseless, laying hand on nought. 
Not as content, for greed is in his eye. 



410 BALDER. 

But patient in the confidence of fate. 

Downward in face, and as to his bent head 

Covered ; by nioht and day, in sun or rain, 

Unlocked for, unforeseen, but ever found. 

And keepinjy ever on an aimless way 

With the firm foot of purpose, as in dreams 

We walk to airy biddinus, and as on 

A king's death-day, while all the court stand round 

Power unresigned, the inevitable heir 

Doth eye the crown and pace the palace floors 

Ex])ectant. But none know him for a king 

Nor do him homage. The too-lusty green 

Of the o'er-confident time unawed stands out 

Into his path, and the insultins growth 

Below retards his unresjjected feet. 

He sees, and a cold smile comes on his face 

As moonlight upon ice ; the shivering wind 

Starts from his side, and fleeing ominous, 

Spreads such a sign as in the latter day 

Shall blow from chill Damascus ; but no roll 

Of answering thunder nor dread bolt of wrath 

Smites the roused world that listens and forgets. 

Yet some are wise. With him on hill-tops hoar 

The o'erruling spirits and attentive hours 

Confer, and seek and take his high behest 

In secret, and make peace with things to come. 

And fcxiling Autumn, like an aged king. 

Talked with him on the field of cloth of gold. 

And as he spake fell dead ; and the lush powers, 

And pleasures full, which ruled the summer reign 

(Like ships on a calm sea, that sinking slow 

Of all their gallant bulk above the wave 

Leave but a naked mast) sank one by one 

Into the earth, and in the wonted place 

Were found in lesser fashion, daily less. 

And now the fields are empty, but'He walks 

Hale and unminished to and fro and up 

And down, and more and more the observance 

Of the astonished year is turned and turned 



BALDER. 411 

Upon the Solitary, and the leaves 

Grow wan with conscience, and a-sudden fall 

Liege at his feet, and all the naked trees 

INIourn audibly, lifting appealing arms. 

Which when he knew, as a pale smoke that grows 

Keeping its shape, he rose into the air 

And froze it, and the broad land blanched with 

fear. 
And every breathless stream and river stopped, 
And thro' him, walking white and like a ghost 
With grim unfurnished limbs, the cold light passed 
And cast no shade. Then was he king indeed, 
An*^! all the undefended world he saw 
Bare at his will. His brow grew black on her; 
And with a sound that killed her shuddering heart, 
He whistled for the North." 

Nay, rheumatism 
Forbid ! Let 's have some sunshine (unrolling 

scrolls) — ^schylus — 
Thor — Balder — a Viking — a Runic Skald — 
Kun-y-a and the Gopees — Seeva-deo — 
What next ? Stay, here 's some warmth in prospect. 

" Dawn." 
(Reads). " See her in naked beauty, calm as snow, 
And cradled in a cloud upon the east. 
Unblushed, unconscious, with unopened lids, 
Fair as the first of women where she lay 
Among the asphodels of Paradise 
Before God breathed for her the breath of life." 
Too cool, I long for morning. Here ! 
(Ope7iwg a scroll, and reading). " Lo, Morn 

When she stood forth at universal prime, 
The angels shouted, and the dews of joy 
Stood in the eyes of Earth. While here she reigned 
Adam and Eve were full of orisons, 
And could not sin. And so she won of God 
That ever when she walketh in the world 
It shall be Eden. And around her come 
The happy wonts of early Paradise. 



412 JiALDEK. 

Again the mi^t ascendeth tVom the earth 

And watereth the ground, and at the sign 

Nature, that silent saw our woe, breaks forth 

Into her oklen singing, near and far 

The full and voluntary ehorus tune 

Spontaneous throats, and the ten thousand strings 

That by meridian day, being struck, give out 

A muffled answer, peal their notes, and ring 

Reverberating music. Once again 

The heavens forget their limits, pinions bright 

O'er-passing mix the ethereal bounds with ours, 

And winds of morning lead betAveen their wings 

Ambrosial odours and celestial airs 

Warm with the voices of a better world. 

Dews to the early grass, Light to the eyes. 

Brooks to the murmuring hills, Spring to the earth, 

Sweet winds to opening Howers, MORN to the heart ! 

But more than dew to grass or light to eyes 

Or brooks to mui muring hills or spring to earth 

Or winds to opening flowers, MORN to the heart ! 

Once more to live is to be happy ; Life 

With backward -streaming hair and eyes of haste 

That look beyond the hills, doth urge no more 

Her palpitating feet; Her wild hair falls 

Soft thro' the happy light upon her limbs, 

She turns her wondering gaze upon herself, 

Sweet saying — ' It is good.' Once more the soul 

Rises in Eden to immortal gifts, 

And by the side of morning, — new from heaven, 

Fresh from the stores of all things, and within 

Her limpid face still wearing reflex bright 

Of joys that shall be, — dances glad with strange 

IJnuttciable Knowledge. We are healed ; 

The curse falls from our eyelids ; all the thorns 

And thistles that do plague us, clad in gems 

Stand round ; and we behold them as they are, 

And call them jewelled friends. All fetters break; 

From the tremendous girdle that doth round 

The globe and keep her, to these heavy bonds 



BALDER. 413 

That bind us to her, and whose last stronghold 
Is clenched in central fires. We are not dogs 
Nailed to a needful den, but winged lions, 
And walk the earth from choice, — the fair free 

earth 
That willeth to be here, and cares not yet 
To mount up like a coloured cloud to God. 
The pulse of Being flows, the ill that ran 
Along her veins, the hand of Incubus 
Upon her throat, are gone like night ! All things 
Do well, and still his function is to each 
Consummate welfare. As the unheeded garb 
Upon the rising and the falling breast 
Of beauty, that still moveth as she moves, 
Breathes with her breath and quivers with her 

sighs. 
So Nature's varied robe lies light on her, 
The beautiful broad surface of the world 
And all its kingdoms. Memory that stirred 
And murmured thro' the helpless dreamy dark, 
Snuffing the eternal air, sinks silent down 
To utter sleep, for whereas day that is 
Bendeth beneath the golden multitude 
Of all the days that have been, each to-morrow 
Heavier for yesterday. Morn hath no past. 
Primeval, perfect, she, not born to toil, 
Steppeth from under the great Aveight of life. 
And stands as at the first. 

" The feast is spread. 
And none know wherefore. Wherefore ? who shall 

ask ? 
Who cannot feast V As a rich bride in smiles 
And blushes for her much bliss eateth not, 
And seeth that they serve a sacrament 
And something more than wine, the poet sits. 
While Who stood glorious at the shining head 
Of jubilee, where men a light beheld 
A^fl he a presence, clad in sounding joy 
Moves down the festal aisles. As a true queen, 



414 BALDKH. 

In whose ennobling eyes her lowhest guests 
Are princes, so she slow descends to far 
Forgotten places, and with her mere smile 
Rights the unequal board. Light shines to light 
Down to the earth and upward to the heaven, 
And whatsoe'er unknown it is whereof 
Our lives default, whatever of divine 
Whose all irreparable absence makes 
The nameless dolour of a mortal day, 
Returns in full. As love, that hath his cell 
In the deep secret heart, doth with his breath 
Enrich the precincts of his sanctuary 
And glorify the brow and tint the cheek ; 
As in a summer garden one beloved 
Whom roses hide, unseen fills all the place 
With happy presence ; as to the void soul 
Beggared witli famine and with drought, lo God ! 
And there is great abundance ; so comes MORN, 
Plenishes all things and completes the world." 
(^Opening another scroll). Now for the matron sister, 

drowsy Noon, 
The lotus-eater, nay, nay, I must keep 
My eyes open ; I '11 pass her for the next. 
This should be Evening by its place. No title ! 
{Reach). " And seest thou her who kneeleth clad 

in gold 
And purple, with a flush upon her cheek, 
And upturned eyes full of the love and sorrow 
Of other worlds ? 'T is said that when the sons 
Of God did walk the earth she loved a star 
Which went aloft with God, but, lest she die. 
Day after day looks out on her from heaven 
At sunset smiling, so she wears her robe 
Sad but imperial, as of right a queen." 

[ Turns to another scroll, unrolls, and reads. 
'• And lo the last strange sister, but tho' last 
Elder and haught, called Night on earth, in heaven 
Nameless, for in her far youth she was given _ 
Pale as she is, to pride, and did bedeck 



BALJDEK. 415 

Her bosom with innumerable gems, 
And God, He said, ' Let no man look on her 
For ever,' and, begirt with this strong spell 
The moon in her wan hand she wanders forth. 
Seeking for some one to behold her beaMt}% 
And wheresoe'er she cometh eyelids close, 
And the world sleeps." 

I 'm sleepy too ; Heigho ! 
Is this a dream '? 

(0/)en.s a scroll and reads.) " I knew a family 
Of fairies. Thou wouldst hear their history "? 
But how ? I cannot speak of them apart ; 
Nay, hardly of the matter of this breath 
May frame their common story. Our least word 
Too palpable is grosser than the strength 
Of all, as one bright water-drop contains 
An animalcular people. Oberon, 
Step forth, and let me fit thee with a sound 
Wherein from top to toe thou wouldst not stand 
Hid as an urchin in his grandsire's coat ! 
Their dwelling-place was by the water's edge 
Under a stone. The mosses of the brink 
Spread ample shade with branching arms at noon, 
And there each day they lay at ease, all three 
Singing a drowsy chorus like the hum 
Of hovering gnat above a bed at night, 
Heard when the house is still. Such needful rest 
Concludes the daily feast ; — a grain of grass 
In no more honey-dew than loads an ant 
Driven like an ass before them. Once a day 
They fed at home, but morn and eve I saw 
Where in green ambush under milking kine, 
Looking up, all, as to a precipice, 
They watched the pail, and when the white plash 

fell 
Cupped in some patent floweret, gathering round, 
Climbed the laborious stem, and bending o'er, 
Drank deep ; which done, they seek the lucid lake, 
And sailing forth in pride, the emerald wing 



416 RALDKK. 

Of summer beetle is a barge of state ; 

Her cock-boat, red and black, the painted scale 

Of lady-fly aft in the fairy wake 

Towed by a film, and tossed perchance in storm, 

When airy martlet, sipping of the pool, 

Touches it to a ripple that stirs not 

The lilies. Thus I knew the tiny band, 

Nor only so, but singly, and of each 

The several favour ; yet 1 can but speak 

With organs made to toll of gods and men. 

Thou who wouldst know them better think the 

rest 
And with some fine suggestion which has taste 
Of a remembered odour, silent sweet, 
Or what rare power divides the last result 
Of mortal touch, and to the atomy 
Gives an unnamed inferior, or what sense • 
Responds the tremors of the soul and takes 
The sound of wings that unbeheld by eyes 
Mystic and seldom thro' its upper air 
Pass as in wandering flight ; therewith behold 
My vision, and therewith accept the parts 
Of the so delicate whole which my strained care 
Brought not unminished, nor could bring, but found 
As 't were an elfin draught in faery cup. 
And to be spilled by the mere pulse of hands 
Like mine. Therewith attach each separate grace 
Of those thus fair together ; know what made 
Each brother beauteous, what more subtle charm 
The lovelier sister, and Avhat golden hair 
Hung over her as sometimes shimmereth light 
From smallest dew-drop, else unseen, that crowns 
The slimmest grass of all the shaven green 
At morning. Love them by their names, for names 
They had, and speech that any word of ours 
Would drop between its letters uncontained ; 
Love them, but hope not for impossible knowledge. 
In their small language they are not as we ; 
Nor could, methinks, deliver with the tongue 



BALDER. 417 

Our gravid notions ; nor of this our world 

They speak, tho' earth-born, but have heritage 

From our confines, and property in all 

That thro' the net of our humanity 

Floats down the stream of things. Inheriting 

Below us even as we below some great 

Intelligence, in whose more general eyes 

Perchance Mankind is one. Neither have fear 

To scai^e them, drawing nigh, nor with thy voice 

To roll their thunder. Thy wide utterance 

Is silence to the ears it enters not, 

Raising the attestation of a wind, 

No more. As we, being men, nor hear but see 

The clamour and the universal tramp ' 

Of stars, and the continual Voice of God 

Calling above our heads to all the world." 

1 like this better. Shall I try again ? 

Wheugh ! what a roomful ; I 'm not half-way round. 

Courage, Paul ! one more venture ! 

( Unrolls a scroll and reads). " Chamouni ! " 

"If 
Thou hast known anywhere amid a storm 
Of thunder, when the Heavens and Earth were 

moved, 
A gleam of quiet sun.shine that hath saved 
Thine heart ; Or where the earthquake hath made 

wreck, 
Knowest a stream, that wandereth fair and sweet 
As brooks go singing thro' the fields of home ; 
Or on a sudden when the sea distent 
With windy pride, upriseth thro' the clouds 
To set his great head equal with the stars 
Hast sunk Hell-deep, thy noble ship a straw 
Betwixt two billows ; Or in any wild 
Barbaric, hast, with half-drawn breath, passed by 
The sleeping savage, dreadful still in sleep, 
Scarred by a thousand combats, by his side 
His rugged spouse — in aught but sex a chief — 
Their babe between ; Or where the stark roof-tree 
27 



418 BALDEK. 

Of a burnt home blackened and sear lies dark. 

Betwixt the gaunt-ribbed ruin, hast thou seen 

The rose of peace ; Or in some donjon deep, 

Rent by a giant in the blasted rock 

And proof against his peers, — hast thou beheld 

Prone in the gloom, naked and shining sad 

In her own light of loveliness, a fair 

Daughter of Eve : Then as thou seest God 

In some material likeness, less and more, 

Thou hast seen Chamouni, mid sternest Alps 

The gentlest valley ; bright meandering track 

Of summer when she winds among the snows 

From Land to Land. Behold its fairest field 

BeneatliTlie bolt-scarred forehead of the hills 

Low lying, like a heart of sweet desires, 

Pulsing all day a living beauty deep 

Into the sullen secrets of the rocks. 

Tender as Love amid the Destinies 

And Terrors ; whereabout the great heights stand 

Down-gazing, like a solemn company 

Of grey heads met together to look back 

Upon a far fond memory of youth. 

Northward and southward of my hut, from heaven 

To eai'th, two gates of ice shut in the scene. 

As tho' between twin icebergs a green sea 

Had melted, and the summer sun and sky 

Shone in the waters. All the vale is flowers. 

Take thy staff shod Avith iron, gird thy loins 

For conflict. Let us to the northern gate ! 

Is this a wood of pines V Are these but rocks, 

Hurled by the winter tempest ? Did a chance 

O'erthrow these trunks — in the stern wont of war 

Supine V Or was it here the Thunderer smote 

The Giants — And the battered remnant stand 

Astonied giving glory to the Heavens ? 

Aye, these are pines ; but thou shalt turn and break 

The hugest on thy knee, having once passed 

Qut of their umbrage, and in open day 

Fronted the everlasting looks of them 



BALDER. 419 

Who sit beyond in council ; round whose feet 

Are wrapped the shaggy forests, and whose beards, 

Down from the great height unapproachable, 

Descend upon their breasts. There, being old. 

All days and years they maunder on their thrones 

Mountainous mutterings, or thro' the vale 

Roll the long roar from startled side to side 

When whoso, lifting up his sudden voice, 

A moment speaketh of his meditation. 

And thinks again. There shalt thou learn to stand 

One in that company, and to commune 

With them, saying, ' Thou, oh Alp, and thou, and 

thou 
And L' Nathless, proud equal, look thou take 
Heed of thy peer, lest he perceive thee not, — 
Lest the wind blow his garment, and the hem 
Crush thee, or lest he stir, and the mere dust 
In the eternal folds bury thee quick ! 
The forest now behind thee, at thy feet 
The torrent, thrust thine head back as who seeks 
The polestar ; and above the mountains green. 
And o'er the shepherd's shealing, — less than nest 
On tree-top — and o'er woods that are as moss, 
Black on a ruin, — over the icy sea 
— A billowy Sibir of ten thousand hills 
As tho' yon white rocks, bending evermore 
So potently above the floods, begat 
A likeness, and from out their yielding breasts 
Compelled a brood of stone — o'er naked crags, — 
Aye, above where the shyest roe unseen 
Draws the thin breath, and marmot cannot pass 
The inexorable famine, — over wilds 
For ever dead, and snow, and upper snow, 
And wastes above the snow, see nearer heaven 
Tiie base of a great pyramid, and rise 
Slow to his peak, like a grey pinnacle 
Of the towered earth piercing the cloudless skies. 
To us how calm and lonely, tenantlcss 
And silent as the still and empty air. 



420 BALDER. 

But to that height the seldom mountaineer 
Looks from the extremest footing of some ridge 
Incredible, three times beyond our ken, 
And to his keen and upward-straining eyes 
Hound it midway the circling eagles sail, 
As daws that round some thin and distant spire 
On English hill, scarce seen thro' lucent air 
Are motes in the evening sun. 

" Now, if thou durst. 
Drop from the Alp to lowest vale remote 
Breathless ; nor be the first in that great fall. 
80 yon dark glacier fi-om his native snows 
Fell on the narrow valley, which beneath. 
Like a poor foundered .skitf, when some vast whale 
In his unwieldy death-pang leaps and falls, 
Is sunk and lost. Grim with mortalit}', 
War-stained he lies in heavy length, and bleeds, 
A hill of death. Behold aloft the seas 
Whence he came down, unmelting seas of snow 
Well-named, the ocean of a frozen world. 
A marble storm in monumental rage. 
Ploughed on the fragment of a shattered moon. 
Passion at nought and strength still strong in vain, 
A wrestling giant, spell-bound, but not dead. 
As tho' the universal deluge passed 
These confines, and when forty days were o'er 
Knew the set time obedient and arose 
In haste : but Winter lifted up his hand 
And stayed the everlasting sign which strives 
For ever to return. Cold crested tides 
And cataracts more white than wintry foam 
Eternally in act of the great leap 
That never may be ta'en, these fill the gorge 
And rear upon the steep uplifted waves 
Immoveable, that proudly feign to go, — 
And on the awful ramparts of the rock 
Bend forward, as in motion — side by side 
Mixed manifold, rank after mingling rank, 
In all the throng of multitude, but each 



BALDEK. 4'<^1 

Condign, and in a personality 
Confest. Nor from the valley seen fis waves. 
But as lone shepherd, on some battle hill, 
At settino- of" a chill moon on the wane, 
Beholds his heroes from their unknown p^raves 
Snow-cold, with blades of ice, out of the night, 
The peopled peopling night, o'er airy crag 
Crowding nnstaunched inva'sion, with consent 
Of hands that point advance, and martial gaze 
Of helmed heads, silent, majestical, — 
All ghosts ! Or as some great acropolis. 
Above the wondering eyes of ancient men, 
On sacred feast, a statuary host, 
^ent out her idols round the incandent hill, 
And all her marble deities went by 
In solemn march, tall, white, innumerable, 
Each after each divine ; while far beneath. 
Lone, like some shattered pillar of the skies, 
Half-buried by his fall, headlong and prone, 
The broken worship of a ruder race, 
A Greater lay. Or so methinks of old, 
Below a mount of Jewry, Dagon fell 
Before the Highest ; and in him subdued 
From their high seats, fair bowers, dim haunts be- 
loved. 
And temples of the abdicated earth. 
Upon a day the great mythology 
Came forth by legions to behold the sign. 
Dethroned, discrowned, divestured ; with bare 

brows 
Paler than men ; proud whispering as they pass, 
In murmur of a thousand waterfalls, 
While somewhat like the finger of the world 
Pointeth above their heads into the heavens, 
And crash as of avenging thunderbolts 
Pursues them, — nor can haste the step of gods. 
Low in the abject earth lies Chamouni, — 
Low in the last profound, whose narrow deep 
Seems from yon midway and diminished peak — 



122 BALDEK. 

So hunters say — who, clinginjij to the rock, 
Dizzy look clown — a jjulph of mountain-mist, 
Rainbowed, or if substantial, sunk and lost, 
Drowned in the abyss of air, and lapsed below 
Terrestrial, hopeless in a void of dreams. 
Beheld as one should spy from upper wave 
Of seas unsounded fathomless and dark, 
Low, thro' mysterious waters infinite. 
Illumined by a gleam, some jewelled mine 
Eme)'ald and ruby flashing dreamy gold, 
Rent in the nether bed of the mid-main. 
Kor less above yon midway crag the calm 
Unventured summit, thin if who descried 
The dee|)-sea gulph, with S'udden gaze revert, 
Sees from his span of footing on the wave 
Far in unearthly ether unassailed, 
A great white cloud serene in sacred light 
And happy skies. 

" Here, in the lowest vale. 
Sit we beside the torrent, till the goats 
Come tinkling home at eve, with pastoral horn 
Slow down the winding way, plucking sweet grass 
Amid the yellow pansies and harebells blue. 
' The milk is warm, 

The cakes are brown ; 

The flax is spun. 

The kine are dry ; 

The bed is laid, 

The children sleep ; 

Come, husband, come. 

To home and me.' 
So sings the mother as she milks within 
The chalet near thee ; singing so for him . 
Whom every morn she sendeth forth alone 
Into the waste of mountains, to return 
At close of day as a returning soul 
Out of the infinite ; lost in the whirl 
Of clanging systems and the wilderness 
Of all things, but to one remembered tryst. 



BALDER. 428 

One human heart and unfororotten cell, 
True in its ceaseless self, and in its time 
Restored. But now the dusk whi(,'h like a tarn 
Lay lonof since in the hollows of the hills, 
Swells from deep caves and tributary jjlens 
Unnumbered, till the lower mountain tops 
Are covered, and the dull and dead sea-line 
Rests tideless on a shore of sacred snow. 
And now an unknown trouble has made cold 
Those higher Alpine foreheads whence supreme 
Over our darkness a serener day 
Looked westward and to all that we saw not. 
The glory and the loss. For they do watch 
The journey of the setting sun as one 
Who when the weaker inmates of the house 
Have sunk about his feet in dews and shades 
Of sorrow, watches still with brow of light 
And manly eye a brother on his way ; 
But when the lessening face shines no return 
Thro' distance slowly lengthening and sinks slow 
Behind the hill-top, nor him, looking back, 
The straining sense discerns, nor the far sound 
Of wheels, stands fixed in sudden gloom profound, 
And thoughts more stern than woe. 

" Over those heights 
Untrod, nor to be trodden, let thy soul 
Pass like a fleeting sunshine. Let it glide 
Over the summit, southward, and descend 
Where, thro' black mountains, a great river of snow 
Banked by two Alps, from the eternal source 
Whiter than clouds between the awful shores 
Shines to the valley. Meantime we below 
Tread the dark vale uplooking ; or sit lon<r, 
With hopeless upturned eyes, as one let down 
Into the abyss of everlasting night, 
From the impossible deep should gaze in vain 
Up through the silent chaos to the skirts 
Of ordered Nature. What is he, unseen, 
Who with the dreadful glacier as a sceptre 



424 



Yon rounded summit as an orb of state ? 

Thou canst not see them now, but forth to meet 

The sovereign symbol, venerable woods 

Climb the huge steep where age and pride allow, 

And send their lither progeny to scale 

The bleaker rock, ambitious. These, inured, 

Attain the lower precipice, nor blench 

Storm-bred : but these fall back aghast in sight 

Of everlasting Winter, where, snow-borne, 

In his white realm, for ever white, he sits 

Invisible to men ; and in his works 

Gives argument of that which, seen, makes faint 

Aspiring Nature, and his throne a mount 

Not to be touched. On either wilderness 

A snow-land spreads along the level skies. 

Now from the eastward midnight draweth nigh, 

When all things rest from labour. As she goes, 

Her vestments floating shut out moon and stars 

Mysterious ; and she breathes before her face 

Darkness where all is dark. Mute goeth she, 

And silently on either hand unyokes 

The willing mountains trom beneath their load 

Even now dispersing while the valley shakes, 

And in his bed the sleeping peasant stirs, 

And dreams of thunder. They, beheld no more. 

Leave only to the cataracts, and thee, 

The great snow baseless in mid-heaven, self-shown. 

Out-stretched and equal, like supporting wings, 

Or thro' the windy and tumultuous dark 

Down the long glacier sounding to the vale. 

There was a legend wild, whispered at eve, 

Late round the dying watch-fires to awed men, 

In those dead seasons whence our Danish sires, 

Of the Great Arctic Ghost, the efficient power 

And apparition of the frozen North, 

The mystic swan of Noma, the dread bird 

Of destiny, world-wide, with roaring wings, 

FIflpping the ice-wind and the avalanche. 



BALDER. 425 

And -vvhite and terrible as polar snows. 
By them unseen behold it ! thro' the niL'ht 
Swooping from heaven, its head to earth, its neck 
Down-streaming from the cloud: above the cloud 
Its great vans thro' a rolling dust of stars 
Thunderous descending in the rush of fate." 

After Mont Blanc one may sit down unblamed. 
Eh ! this is tempting — these old eyes were dull ' 
Not to see this at room's-length ! A veiled frame ! 
Reverently set in honour, and once wreathed, 
It seems, with living flowers now long, long, dead ! 
The veil of funeral black, embrowned with dust ! 
A portrait as I guess — I '11 see it. \_Enter Balder. 

Balder. Hold ! 

'T is sacred ! 

Doctor. Pardon, friend, you make me nervous, — 
I thought these heads said " Hold." 

Balder. They had cried out 

If I had held my peace. A time may come 
To raise that veil. Not now. 

Doctor. Your invalid ? 

Balder. Not yet returned. I'll fetch her. 

[ Goes to window. 
Look here, Paul ! 
That figure stealing down the linden grove ! 
'T is Evening, or 't is she ! she comes ! she comes ! 

Doctor. 'T is a most happy symptom. Let her 
take 
Her will. I '11 wait. 

Balder. Good God ! she turns ^side 

From the field-path into the winding track 
We used in other days. 

Doctor. Still happier sign ! 

Nay, I '11 not hurry her. 

Balder. Thanks, thanks. 

Doctor. But, friend, 

Hast thou no song to wear the hour away : 
1 'm wearv. 



4"2H HALDEK. 

Balder. Paul, thou art an emperor'! 
Decree. 

Doctor. Thou hadst of old " a sonjj of seasons," 
With dainty amours and a fire-side close 
Most comfortable. 

Balder. Aye, an evensono-. 

{^Goes to his liarp^ and sings. 
In the spring twilicrht, in the coloured twilight, 
Whereto the latter primroses are stars, 
And early nightingale 
Letteth her love adown the tender wind, 
That thro' the eglantine 
In mixed delight the fragrant music bloweth 
On to me, 

Where in the twilight, in the coloured twilight, 
I sit beside the thorn uyjon the hill. 
The mavis s]ngs upon the old oak tree 
Sweet and strong. 
Strong and sweet. 
Soft, sweet, and strong. 
And with his voice interpreteth the silence 

Of the dim vale when Philomel is mute ! 
The dew lies like a light upon the grass, 

The cloud is as a swan upon the sky, 

The mist is as a brideweed on the moon. 

The shadows new and sweet 

Like maids unwonted in the dues of joy 

Play with the meadow flowers, 

And give with fearful fancies more and less. 

And come, and go, and flit 

A brief emotion in the moving air, 

And now are stirred to flight, and now are kind, 

Unset, uncertain, as the cheek of Love. 

As tho' amid the eve 

Stood Spring witli fluttering breast. 

And like a butterfly upon a flower, 

Spreading and closing with delight's excess, 

A-sudden fanned and shut her tinted wings. 

In the spring twilight, in the coloured twilight, 



BALDER. 427 

Ere Hesper, eldest child of Night, run forth 

On mountain-top to see 

If Day hath left the dale, 

And hears, well-pleased, the dove 

From ancient elm and high 

In murmuring dreams still bid the sun good-night, 

And sound of lowing kine, 

And echoes long and clear, 

And herdsman's evening call, 

And bells of penning folds. 

Sweet and low ; 

Oh maid, as fair as thou 

Behold the young May moon ! 

Oh ! happy, happy maid, 

With love as young as she 

In the spring twilight, in the coloured twilight, 

Meet, meet me, by the thorn upon the hill. 

[Intci'lade of' music. 
At the midsummer, at the high midsummer. 
Deep in the darkness let me sit embowered 
All alone ; 

What time the children of the earth and heaven 
As of two houses whom a feud divides, 
Meet in the mingling mystery of midnight. 
And melting clouds sink low with wooers' tears, 
Felt but unseen, dropping a balm of joy 
AVhereto the love-touched leaves 
Tremble and whisper thro' the gentle land. 
The incense riseth and the incense ftilleth 
And all the stolen hour is stirred with kisses, 
And silent loves constrain the passionate time ; 
Rich loves that as they list 
Exchange and take and give 
Unmeted mede and debts for ever due. 
And sweets are mixed along the languid air 
Like balmy breath of lovers warm and near, 
And glowing faces meeting thro' the dark. 
Hush ! for the world stands still 
Held in mere joy, as nought on earth would lose. 



i28 BAJ.DEK. 

The happy place and moment where It sfood. 
Hush ! o'er a stiHness, still as Love's delight, 
Hearts gushing, bosoms heaving, moving arms 
Winding, unwinding ; lips that close and part 
And love still ending and beginning; Hush ! 
Put back the dawn, O Phosphor ! Set again ! 
Fall like a sweet drop from the honeyed heavens ! 
Go down, and carried by a tender cloud ! 
The exquisite best moment of the night 
Sinks down with thee. This is the extasy ! 
It sheds, it sheds ! The night is filled with flowers, 
The viewless night, faint night, the yielding 

night, 
The favouring night, — with flowers and happy 

rain ! 
As tho' to-morrow's blossoms spreading odours 
As they float 

Soft thro' the season, shy thro' the dark season 
Like a warm dew sank murmuring from the skies, 

[Interlude of music. 
Fall, fall, fall, 
Fall, fall, fall. 

Oh orchard fruit fall from the fading tree, 
Fall fruit of Autumn on the sullen sod, 
Heavy and dead as clods into a grave. 
Fall, fall, fall, 
Fall, fall, fall. 

Lone lingering rose thou knowest all must die ! 
Canst thou convince the breeze of spring, or blush 
The summer thro' the cheeks of sallow day ? 
I'hou, sick Avith solitude, and blanched with tears ? 
Fall, fall, fall. 
Fall, fall, fall, 

Sere leaf that quiverest thro' the sad still air, 
Sere leaf that waverest down the sluggish wind, 
Sere leaf that whirlest on the Autumn gust. 
Free in the ghastly anarchy of death. 
The sad still air which as a alkahest, 
Potent and silent doth dissolve the year : 



nAi.DKiJ. 429 

Till' sluggish wind that as a red stream slow 

With carnage welters dull, and steams with death ; 

The sudden gust that like a headsman wild, 

Uplifteth Beauty by her golden hair, 

To show the world that she is dead indeed ! 

Fall, fail, fall. 

Fall, fall, fall, 

Fall twilight rain that dost not strive nor cry, 

But chillest all the time with silent sorrow ; 

And not a wind does violence, nor a plaint 

Stirs the dank quiet of the latter leaves ; 

But — as in speechless looks of him who stands. 

Withered and wan by the wayside of Fate, 

Timeless, unwelcome, all his better lot 

Outlived, and the dear fashion of his day 

And race forgotten, bended to his ill. 

And lifting not the unavailing voice 

Which no man heedeth — lorn and stillest tears 

Grow in the fade eyes of the relict world. 

[ Interlude of music. 

Trim the lamp, 
Pile the fire; 
Brim the cup, 
Touch the strings ; 
Sigh of love. 
Sing of joy ; 
Trill of maids, 
Chant of men ! 

Oh the young, 
And the fair ; 
Oh the love. 
And the wine ; 
Log of Yule, 
Log of Yule, 
In thy glamour 
They shine ! 



430 



For an hour 
We are gods, 
And of all 
Love hath given 
Lacking none 
From our world 
See the sum 
Of our days ! 

Round the forms 
That to-day 
Blushed with life 
Meet and smile 
All the shapes 
Of the past 
In the light 
Glimmer pale. 

Early loves, 
Friends of yore 
Ancient eyes 
Voices old 
Where the blaze 
Charms the air 
By our hearth 
Come again. 

And the sounds 
And the dreams 
And the quick 
And the dead. 
In spell-dance 
Move round me, 
In murmur 
And maze. 

Oh ye Loves ! 
Oh ye Days ! 



BALDER, 431 

Oh ye Dead! 
Oh ye Dreams ! 
Bar the door, 
Bar the door, 
With a shout, 
Shut them in ! 

For all the outer world is rocked in war ! 

The powers of harm break faith, and in mad might 

Yell for the rout and will not be denied ! 

Even now the hungry sea begins to wreck, 

And the impatient storms, eager for ill, 

Bide not the expected signal, but blow out 

The lingering Light that flickered in the west. 

To-day is dead an hour before his time ! 

Good spells are broken, and the shrieking night, 

Down from the haunted and mysterious hills, 

Comes black and shuddering, wrapped about with 

snows. 
Like a starved Ethiop sheeted from the grave. 



SCENE XXIV. 
The Study. Balder solus, writing. Enter Amy. 

Amy. I have somewhat to say : let me come 
close, 
Close to thine ear ; my husband, I am well ! 

Balder. Thy pain ? — 

Amy. Gone ! I am well ; speak very low ; 

The butterfly fresh from his living grave 
Feels not so frail and new. Hist, not a word, 
'T is resurrection morning ; I am free. 

Balder. My poor child — 

Amy. Nay, I know ; I am not mad ; 

Hush ! for I think a whisper would disturb 
This footing ; I am well, so well I 1 feel 
I have slipped thro' the chains that held me down ; 



432 BALDER. 

I could move like a mote thro' the warm air 
Up to the hills. Let us jjo to the hills. 
Hush, do not answer. I have spoken now. 
1 thought it would not last while 1 could tell thee. 

[Exit. 
Balder {going to his harp and touching a solemn 
sweet air). 
I praise thee, mother earth ! oh earth, my mother ! 
Oh earth, sweet mother ! gentle mother earth! 
Whence thou receivest what thou givest I 
Ask not as a child asketh not his mother, 
Oh eaith, my mother ! [_-^my reappears habited. 
Balder. And thy lute. Amy ? I will bring thy 
lute. 
Nay, my poor nightingale, and art thou dumb 
By day ? But thou wilt be the lark, my child, 
So near heaven's gate. Look to the morning 

hills. 
With such a golden tumult over them 
As if the everlasting ])ort above 
F'or the imperial Sun did ope and close 
With clangor. Well, well, I '11 not let thee sing, 
But thou shalt murmur to me as the dove 
When she alit upon the mountain-top 
And found the leaf of peace. And I will make 
Thy lute-strings shimmer as the sunshine shook 
About her as she murmured. . 

[ Takesi up his hat and staff. 
My Alp stick ! 
I think thou art King Edward's staff to-day. 
For I feel more than king and half confessor. 

[ They pass side by side into the ^fields. 
Amy. The hay, the new-mown hay I the birds, 

the birds ! 
Balder. The audible soul of the warm balmy 
wind 
That moves in music. Yonder pensive thrush 
Singing his rhythmic cadence, and, below, 
The blackbird, earnest in the flowering thorn. 



i5Aldp:h. 433 

Chanting his mellow prose as tho' he told 

A wonted story, ever old and new ! 

The fitful chaffinch, like a bashful youth 

That hurries forth his love in sudden speech 

And blushing pause, the loud and cheerful wren, 

The sparrow's chirp, the swallow on the wall — 

The swallow that pours out her liquid joy 

Upon the morning flood of happiness, 

Wherein it tails with silver sound and sweet 

As water into water ; these, and all 

The warbling voices breathing of the South, 

The slender treble of the tuneful year 

With throbbing throats that chorus sunshine thro' 

The vocal world, dainty, and soft, and low ! 

And high o'er all a languid noise of rooks. 

Lost in bright air, circling in sunny calm, 

Or cawing from the haunt of oaken green 

The leafy rest of June ! 

[ Tliey enter a meadow of flowers. 

Amy. See ! 

Balder. Seems it not. 

My Amy, that this prattling Babe, the Earth, 
Sole sitting at the footstool of the Heaven, 
Strives to repeat her stars ? 

Amy. Yes. 

Balder. Thy small feet 

May tread the pathway careless of the dews : 
We mortals are contemned of Nature, — she 
Casts not her pearls before us. But look. Amy, 
This blade of grass from the untrodden field, 
This green perfection of abundant health, 
Complete with dew. Herein behold why Nature 
Is the one Teacher whom the Poet needs. 
For she alone can show him in her works 
Consummate art, and that supreme excess 
Which fashions her fair work until the bound 
Of possible performance, and the verge 
Of the wrapt heart's belief; and while we say, 
" Behold the final good ! " sprinkles a dew, 
28 



484 J5ALDKK. 

And with divine complacence, passeth both. 

Or having wrought her statue from a block 

Infallible, with an unfailing hand 

Quickens the faultless whole, and with a touch 

Makes cold Perfection live. With her he sees 

Not only snow, but driven snow, nor driven snow 

But on the sacred summit of an Alp 

Immaculate, and on the whitest peak, 

Whiter than white ; the flower not only fair, 

But tragi ant, and the light not only warm. 

The fire not only bright ; the summer fruit 

Sweet to the taste but sweeter to the eye. 

And over all its tangible a bloom 

That never can be touched. She, only she, 

In her least work, as in her greatest, shows 

To his confessing eyes the unattained 

And unattainable, and tho' his pride, 

Stung to its strength, outstrain the furthest stretch 

Of man, and bring the trophies of the world. 

She, still unsatisfied, by Day and Night 

Points upward, saying, — " Be ye perfect as 

Your Father in the Heavens ! " Thou hearest me 

not ; 
Thy cheek is wet with tears ; thou art pale and 

red ; 
Amy, my little child ! 

Amy. Oh, Love, I live \ 
I am 1 I feel ! The Earth is not a dream ! 
The Prison doors are broken ! I am free ! 
I stand forth in the sun ! I know the wind ! 
The utter world doth touch me ! I can grasp 
The hands that stretch forth from the mystery 
That passeth ! I am crowded witn my life ! 
It is too much ! the vital march doth stop 
To press about me ! Air, give air — too much, 
Too much — forgive, forgive, forgive 

Balder. My Loved ! 

My Lost ! my Wept ! my early-risen ! I clasp thee 
Fresh from the dead ! T is past ; new-waked from 
sleep 



r, ALDER. 435 

Sudden amid the concourse of sweet sounds, 
The rush, the pageant tumult, and this tramp 
Of Being, the weak sense bewildered laughs 
And weeps by turns. 

Amy. Husband, till now, thy speech 

Was my sole music, whereunto I kept 
The maimed attendance of these feeble feet ; 
To-day 't is but a note — the first the best — 
In somewhat that fills all this sunshine space 
With sound since 't is for sound to stir the 

heart 
Unseen. 

Balder. Here let us rest. Thou hast said well 
'T is Resurrection-day. For I remember 
Once in a sleep of childhood I looked forth 
Thro' a wide summer window, on a still 
And Garden-world. Eden, as at the first, 
I saw, and all the summers since the first. 
Above it like a golden silent sea 
Lay warm and sweet and slumb'rous, soaking deep 
All things in honeyed light — flowers, fruits, and 

trees. 
Which breathed their gums and amber, and let down 
From their festooned fair tops that no wind stirred 
Visible odours — and the tepid Lakes 
And the dissolving Hills. And far below, 
Down thro' green warmth of the relaxed sod 
To hidden secrets of the inner Earth 
Slow sank incumbent, sinking, sinking Light. 
'T was Resurrection-morn. Where I beheld 
City had never stood, nor ways of men. 
Nor place of funeral. But the Dead came up 
Like spring-flowers, white and golden, thro' the 

ground. 
Lifting a little earth, as snowdrops lift, 
On their strange heads. This morning, as I stood 
Beside my open window, ere thou earnest. 
And looked upon the day, methought I saw 
My childhood's dream. Is it a dream V For thou 



436 BALDER. 

Art such a thing as one might think to see 

Upon a footstone, sitting in the sun, 

Beside a broken grave ! [ They sit musing. 

Amy. Thou hast been silent 

So long, that the slow shade of the tree-top 
Moved like a dark hand o'er the grass, and took 
Another daisy. 

Balder. I do know this moment ! 

This is the very wind that long ago 
In the first morning of sweet life we breathed 
By the open gate of Love, when thou and I 
Went happy in together, knowing not 
The place, nor heeding if 't were Earth or no. 
We were so young, thou wert so pure, the woes 
And weary ills that keep the gate of Love 
Looked on us as on shapes concerning whom 
They had no charge ; the guardians of the trees 
Slept all, and with us the sublimer Fates 
Dealt softly as with children. Did we dream 
A dream of years upon some flowery knoll, 
And do we wake where we lay down ? Is this 
The outer world ? Is this the common day 
Of all the living ? Oh Amy ! my own child, 
I could believe this fancy ; never since 
I felt this wind upon me in my youth 
Have I beheld thee as now. Dost thou remember 
The old days when at ti'ysting-time thou camest 
Forth down the winding valley to the stile 
To meet me, and beside me all the sweet 
Meandering way trode back in silent joy. 
With downcast eyes that ever sought the ground, 
But tell-tale smiles that could not choose but come 
Me-ward ; quick smiles that every word of mine 
Stirred up anew so often, that they met 
Like sudden roses caught in a warm wind, 
And did provoke each other, ruffling sweets 
In dear confusion, and in all the change 
Of my swift fancy changing till they lay 
Upon thee like the thousand lines of light 



BALDEK. 437 

UjDon the shimmering water that the west 
Moves with a sigh ? So we past slowly on, 
And so fond gazing on thy silent face 
I poured the glorious wine of love into 
A vase of crystal, where it blushed and shone 
More fair. Sometimes I marvel when I think 
Of those first days of love ; love that unknown 
Knew not himself, and still went in and out 
Among the happy inmates of the heart 
As an unconscious prophet Avalks amid 
His brethren ere his equal lips be touched 
With the live coals of fire. I that so long 
Spake, and we knew not that I spake of love 
Because it filled my speech, and being all 
Seemed nothing, I who that I saw it not 
Never believed it present, nor remembered 
That the sole face on which I cannot look 
Is this men know for mine — how did I win thee ? 
Canst tell me ? 

Aint/. I can sing a little song, [She sijigs. 

The sun he riseth up on new year's clay. 
And looketh on the earth and goeth down ; 
The earth she stirreth to be looked upon. 
The faithful sun he riseth day by day. 
And looketh on the earth and goeth down ; 
The earth she trembleth to be looked upon. 
The faithful sun he riseth day by day. 
And looketh on the earth and goeth down ; 
The earth she blusheth to be looked upon. 
The faithful sun he riseth day by day, 
And looketh on the earth and goeth down ; 
The earth she smileth to be looked upon. 
The faithful sun he riseth day by day, 
And looketh on the earth and goeth down ; 
The earth she sigheth to him from the south ; 
The earth she stands before him all in flowers ; 
The many-voiced earth, she calleth him ; 
She singeth at his chamber that he rise, 
And long time holdeth him lest he go down. 



438 BALDER. 

Balder. Thou wert as silent as a bird that sits 
On her dear treasure, and while steps pass nigh 
Is hushed and hid, but, when the plunderer nears 
And only silence could have saved her, cries. 
I ne'er forget my little Amy's face 
Upon the blessed chance that owned us one ; 
The happy chance that struck me by her side, 
And all heard that which else had died unheard ! 

Amy. How did she look? 

Balder. She looked in her surprise 

As when the Evening-Star ta'en unaware, 
While fearless she pursues across the Heaven 
Her Lover Sun, — and on a sudden stands 
Confest in the pursuit before a world 
Upgazing — in her maiden innocence 
Disarms us, and so looks that she becomes 
A worship evermore. 

The bare hill-top 
Shines near above us ; I feel like a child 
Nursed on his grandsire's knee that longs to stroke 
The bald bright forehead ; shall we climb ? 

[ They ascend the hill. 
The fort 
Is won, and here I plant the stalwart sign 
Of sovereignty. A little while this staff 
Shall be the solar centre of creation. 
All that thou seest is thine ! \_He lies down. 

How passing sweet 
To rest the weight of this mortality 
Upon such friendly turf, while the free soul 
Released from earthly shackles shines a star, 
Above the great horizon of this world, 
Giving and taking Light. 

Lo, the wide sea 
Of air from the high shore whereon we lie, 
To the far mountains. Thou couldst lay thy fair 
And buoyant breast upon it, and go down 
Into the limpid ocean as the swan 
Goes down into the lake. 



BALDEK. 439 

How strange to know 
Yon dim old British camp across a plain 
Of fifty waving miles. Dost thou remember, 
Dear love, when we two in the central green 
Of that mauled mountain which our giant sires 
Had clipped and cropped as 't were a Dutch-land 

tree, 
Sat a long summer day, and far and near 
Saw the great martial circles widening out 
Ring after ring, as tho' the snake that dwells 
In the world's core had wound him forth and lay 
Motionless in the sunshine, coil in coil. 
His great head in the midst, and the green grass 
Sprang up and knew him not, his one hour's sleep 
A thousand years ? 

Hark, hark, the gathering herds 
Round the low valley pool. What ! tears again ! 
Bright summer showers ! 

Amy, Oh love, the song of life ! 

Oh love, the music of the world ! my ears 
Are open ! since the years I was a child 
I have not heard it ! Tho' mine eyes have seen 
The ordered pomp and sacred dance of things, 
And marvelled at the measure, it passed on 
In silence, but to-day, to-day, I hear 
The voice to which it moves ! Too sweet, too sweet. 

{^They pause. 

Balder. And now my years come on me, and the 
life 
That shall be ! I am faint with too much light. 
But as a death-bed soul exults in death, 
My spirit soars triumphant as I sink. 
The day is full of suns ; I lie a-dream, 
And o'er me the colossus of my fate 
Stands to the white heavens from the shadeless 

earth, 
And casts no shadow ! This is that same hour 
That I have seen before me as a star 
Seen from a rushing comet thro' the black 



440 BALDER. 

And forward night, which orbs, and orbs, and orbs, 
Till that which was a shining spot in space 
Flames out between us and the universe, 
And burns the heavens with glory. [Pauses. 

Now I live ! 
The weakness has gone by. This seasoned body 
O'ermasters the strong element, and turns 
The potent draught to balm; the Olympian wine 
That made me reel throbs thro' these larger veins 
A nobler blood. Come such a day as melts 
The hard earth back to her primeval drop. 
And I could look it in the face ! my chains 
Break from my ampler limbs. If thou didst start 
I could believe that I sprang up a god, 
And am a god for ever. Do not kiss me, 
Lest the remembered touch of those dear lips 
Bring back a mortal pleasure. 

Amy, Amy, 
Will we not save the world ? 

Amy. 'T is a fair world ! 

Balder. Look down upon it in the sunny haze 
Of silent noon, sole in the void of heaven 
Asleep, divine with the unconscious smile 
Of everlasting beauty. A well-spread 
And ordered world ; not the bright elements 
Innumerous of unrespective change, 
The broken argosy of the universe 
On spangled waters ; but a multiform 
Supreme event, the single continent 
Of all ; like immaterial deity. 
Full of the coloured thought of an unmade 
Creation. 

Amy. 'Tis thy kingdom, 't is thy kingdom, 

My king, my king ! 

Balde7\ " I will arise and reign ; 

As God .contains the world I will contain 
Mankind, and in the solvent of my soul 
The peopled and unpeopled ages. They, 
Born and unborn, are one in me, and freed 



BALDER. 441 

From the disturbing thrall of space and time 
Take each and all, in one eternal whole, 
Ordained places, like a heaven of stars. 
Thou hast said Avell 't is a fair world, but what 
Do the trees hide ? and yon far cloud of smoke 
Over the sulphurous city ? Amy, Amy, 
I yearn towards my race ! 

I have been like 
A prophet fallen on his prostrate face 
Upon the hill of fire. Mine hour is come, 
The earthquake has yawned by me, I have seen 
The seething core of nature, both these ears 
Are deaf with voices, I am blind with light, 
My heart is fall of thunder ! In the form 
Of manhood I will get me down to man*! 
As one goes down from Alpine tops with snows 
Upon his head I, who have stood so long- 
On other Alps, will go down to my race. 
Snowed on Avith somewhat out of Divine air, 
And merely walking thro' them with a step 
God-like to music like the golden sound 
Of Phoebus' shouldered arrows, I will shake 
The laden manna round me as I shake 
Dews from this morning tree. And they shall see 
And eat, and eating live, and living know, 
And knowing worship. We will lead the flocks 
Of the whole earth walking before with staves 
Of light . 

v4m?/. I — I, too, even I ? ah, husband. 
To feel beside thee ! 

Balder. But I see them, Amy, 

Whitening the world like harvest. Wlieresoe'er 
W^e stay they pasture ; in the temperate sun 
Disport on liills for ever green and fair, 
Or at our word with universal feet 
Pass to new fields, their great sound overhead 
Borne like a banner : under favouring skies 
Drink of salubrious streams, in innocent lands 



442 BALDER. 

Lie down to harmless sleep, and rise with us 
To follow day and summer round the globe ! 

Amy. My husband ! 

Bahler. Sinj; a song of love to me, 

This glory burns me up ; fetch me some tears. 

Amy (sings). There grew a lowly flower by 
Eden-gate 
Among the thorns and thistles. High the palm 
Branched o'er her, and imperial by her side 
Upstood the sunburnt lily of the east. 

The goodly gate swung oft with many gods 
Going and coming, and the spice-winds blew 
Music and\nurmurings, and paradise 
Welled over and enriched the outer wild. 

Then the palm trembled fast-bound by the feet, 
And the imperial lily bowed her down 
With yearning, but they could not enter in. 

The lowly flower she looked up to the palm 
And lily, and at eve was full of dews, 
And hung her head and wept and said, " Ah these 
Are tall and fair, and shall I enter in ? " 

There came an angel to the gate at even, 
A weary angel, with dishevelled hair ; 
For he had wandered far, and as he went. 
The blossoms of his crown fell one by one 
Thro' many nights, and seemed a falling star. 

He saw the lovely flower by Eden-gate, 
And cried, "Ah, pure and beautiful ! " and turned 
And stooped to her and wound her in his hair, 
And in his golden hair she entered in. 

Husband ! I was the weed at Eden-gate, 
J looked up to the lily and the palm 



BALDER. 443 

Above me, and I wept and said, "Ah these 
Are tall and fair, and shall I enter in ? " 
And one came by me to the jrate at even, 
And stooped to me and wound me in his hair, 
And in his golden hair I entered in ! 

Balder. Nay the poor wanderer, fallen from 
heaven, drew near 
The guarded gate ; but with his forfeit skies 
Had lost his privilege and master-sign. 
And turned aside and plucked an asphodel, 
And, wearing, passed unchallenged. 

Amy. Hist ! who comes ? 

Ah husband, we must be alone to-day ! 
I feel new-married and do blush to speak. 
Let us go hence. 

Balder. An artist by his satchel. 

Lie silent he will pass us. (Starts up.) What ! my 
comrade ! 

Artist. My old friend ! 

Balder. Welcome ! but how many days 

Before your assignation ? 

Artist. Fairly asked. 

Sooth is, I was a wooer of Dame Nature 
Down in your sylvan valley there. My goddess 
Left me love-tokens, but denied herself; 
I wearied, you may guess ; and every night 
Looked upward to these western tops and saw 
Her footsteps, and the cloudy draperies 
She put aside in passing, closing red 
Behind her, dyed with honour. So I came 
To sit here and waylay her. 

Balder. Amy, this 

Is that good Gerald whom thou knowest well 
By many a song and fireside history. 
Dear old companion, we must meet again ; 
This is a sweet and solemn festival 
Which we two keep together, she and I. 
But ere you leave us for my sake remember 



444 BALDKK. 

One of the songs we used to sing of old ; 

We sang it three at onee, and it was called 

" The Song o' the Sun." The glowing orb of joy 

Within my head must shine, or 't will consume me. 

You, each of you, chime in the needful chorus. 

I am the sun ! 

Artist. With all my heart. Begin. 

Balder. Thou knowest it, little Amy ? 
Amy. Did I e'er 

Forget a word of thine '? [Balder rises to his feet. 
Artist. Phoebus-Apollo ! 

Balder. Earliest bird 

Thou hearest me, 
Me afar off 
Thro' the dark. 
Roll oh days into the years, and oh years into the 

ages, and oh ages into the mystery of God ! 
Oh Love, oh Life, and all ye jocund train 
Virtues and Joys, my lusty Company, 
Be loud around me ! Sing because I sing ! 
Call each to each as I call unto you ! 
Love callino- unto Life 
''Oh Life fob Life!" 
Life calling unto Love 
" Oh Love ! Oh Love ! " 
" How beautiful oh Life ! " 
" How beautiful oh Love ! " 
I am the sun singing behind the mountains ! 
Thou heaven, that didst watch for me on the hills, 
Sitting upon the hill-tops above the valley of 

beauty. 
Thou hearest me afar off singing behind the moun- 
tains, 
And hast let fall thy mourning, and thy bosom is 

pale. 
Also blushes are on thy cheeks lest I see thee, oh 

thou most beautiful. 
But I will see thee, oh thou most beautiful ! 



UALDEK. 445 

Robe thee in purple, take thy eloiuls about thee, 
Rise up, oh queen, with gold upon thy brows, 
Behold I reai-h thee forth ray golden sceptre, 
Behold I give thee morning as a garment, 
Sit on thy hill, and I will touch thy hill, 
And thou slialt sit upon a diamond throne, 
And shalt be glorified before my world ! 
For I see thee, oh thou mo.st beautiful ! 

Quiet valley, valley deep and still, 

Dost thou hear my voice behind the mountains ? 

I Avill come gently as a father peepeth 

Over the cot, over the cot of beauty. 

So will I lift my face up over thee. 

Love, love, love, how beautiful, oh love ! 

Art thou well-awakened, little flower? 

Are thine eyelids open, little flower? 

Are they cool with dew, oh little flower ? 

Hath the south touched thee ? Hath the fairy 

kissed thee ? 
Wilt thou come forth, come forth, into my day ? 

Ringdove, ringdove. 

This is my golden finger 

Between the upper branches of the pine ! 

Come forth, come forth, and sing into my day ! 

Butterfly, butterfly, 

This is my golden finger, 

I will feel for thee down among the roses, 

Sweet in the roses, in the climbing roses. 

And put thee from thy bed into my day ! 

Love, love, love, how beautiful, oh love ! 

I will arise, I will awake the world ! 
They shall be glad because of me, I feel 



446 HALDEU. 

The joy-light shining thro' their lids of sleep, 
Like music from the hollow of the earth ! 

[ They sing. 

It is time, It is time. It is time, 

Oh ye leaves, Oh ye streams. Oh ye bells, 
On the tree-tops On the hill-tops In the grey spire 
Of morning ; Of morning ; Of morning ; 

Laugh down Run down Ring down 

The trees, The hills. The spire. 

That the pastures That the valleys That the hamlet 
May wake ! May wake ! May wake ! 

Awake ! 

I am the sun, I am above the mountains, 
My joy is on me, I will give you day ! 
I will spend day among you like a king ! 
Your water shall be wine because I reign ! 
I stave my golden vintage on the mountains, 
And all } our rushing rivers run with day ! 
I am the sun, I am above the mountains ! 
Arise, my hand is open, it is day ! 
Rise ! as men strike a bell and make it music, 
So have I struck the earth and made it day ! 
Move, move, oh world, on all your brazen hinges 
Send round the thunder of your golden wheels ; 
Throng out, oh millions, out, oh shouting millions ; 
Throng oat, oh millions, shouting, shouting day! 
For as one blows a trumpet through the valleys, 
So from my golden trumpet I blow day ! 

Oh earth, oh flowers, oh birds, oh beasts, oh men, 

Day is proclaimed ! I called until I heard 

The caverns echo ! Day is everywhere ! 

White-favoured day is sailing on the sea, 

And, like a sudden harvest in the land, 

The windy land is waving gold with day ! 

As for you whom I have awakened, do 

As shall seem good in all your shining eyes, 

Your eyes still wet with morning. They shall dry. 



}iALDP:H. 447 

And day shall fade. But I have done my task : 
Do yours ! And what is this that I have given, 
And wherefore ? look ye to it ! As ye can, 
Be wise and foolish to the end. For me, 
I, under all heavens, go forth praising God ! 

Artist. I also. And I also singing lauds 
To see you both so happy. [Exit. 

Balder. Brave old friend ! 

Amy. Shall we walk, husband, to yon shady 
tree 
Above the little stream ? \,They umlk. 

Balder. Alas ! that one 

Should use the days of summer but to live, 
And breathe but as the needful element 
The strangvB superfluous glory of the air ! 
Nor rather stand apart in awe beside 
The untouched Time, and saying o'er and o'er 
In love and wonder, " these are summer days." 

Amy. Let us sit here. [,Tkey sit. 

Balder. Under this ash, last spring, 

I saw a sight more sweet than ever clown 
Came on a-sudden in a fairy ring 
By summer moon. A growth of primroses, 
Thick as the stars by night, and like the stars 
In constellations and in orbits due. 
Shone round the central tix^e. I could believe 
Queen Flora, on a royal progress tired, 
Halted beneath it, and her flowery court 
Pitched their fair tents about her, or, well-pleased. 
Sole or by twins, in fragrant converse, lay 
Upon the enchanted ground. Thou hadst a song, 
A country song, a chanted calendar. 

Fit to be timbrelled to the tambourine 

[Amy interrupts him. 

Amy (siiigs). 

First came the primrose. 
On the bank high, 
Like a maiden looking forth 
From the window of a tower 



448 BALDER. 

When the battle rolls behnv, 

So looked she, 

And saw the storms go by. 

Then came the wind-flower 
In the valley left behind, 
As a wounded maiden pale 
With purple streaks of woe 
When the battle has rolled by 
Wanders to and fro. 
So tottered she, 
Dishevelled in the wind. 

Then came the daisies, 
On the first of May, 
Like a bannered show's advance 
AVhile the crowd runs by the way, 
With ten thousand flowers about them they came 
trooping through the fields. 
As a happy people come, 
So came they, 
As a happy people come, 
When the war has rolled away, 
With dance and tabor, pipe and drum. 
And all make holiday. 

Then came the cowslip, 

Like a dancer in the fair. 

She spread her little mat of green, 

And on it danced she. 

With a fillet bound about her brow, 

A fillet round her happy brow, 

A golden fillet round her brow, 

And rubies in her hair. 

No more, no more, for I am tired of singing, 

I'll make a garland, as in olden days. 

And crown thee as of old. 

[She runs off to neighbouring Jlowers. 
Balder. Thou most pure essence. 



BALDEK. 449 

Wilt thou exhale i' the sun ? Being from me 

Tho' but a little way mine eyes do fear 

To leave thee, as they fear to leave the light 

In a dew-drop. Happy perchance for thee, 

If the spell brake and light returned to light ! 

Yet the strong Fate that mixed us hath wrought 

well. 
I am for thee; thou mightest have crossed this 

world 
Among our grosser motions as a spirit 
Unseen, nor having organs to discourse 
The rare ethereal of its too divine 
And necessary beauty ; but oh soul, 
Oh woman mere and absolute, oh Amy ! 
Upon a sacred moment thou didst come 
Into the body of my Love and Power, 
And henceforth art a worship, being seen 
And known unto the eyes and hearts of men 
For ever ; to whom temples shall be built, 
And nations offer gifts of sighs and tears. 
Thou, little one, who sittest twining flowers, 
White flowers that lie like dew upon thy breast 
Thou fairer blossom, and salutest each 
With such new joy and fond discovery 
As if thou least of living things couldst spare 
A loveliness, and to thee most of all 
'T were Avondrous to be fair, — Thou who, too rich 
And poor, when thy dear arms are round my neck 
Hast no belief in human lot more proud, 
Nor knowledge of a place in the wide world 
So regal — little knowing what thou art, — 
If I could tell thee all, wouldst thou grow pale 
And tremble ? I know not. Nay if this hour 
The green hill and the world below the hill 
Fell from thee, and thou shining like a saint 
Ineffable in mid heaven wert left bare 
To the assembled and upturned gaze 
Of this great Universe, I could believe 
Thou wouldst no more than lift up thy pure eyes 
29 



450 BALDER. 

Unconscious, and walk forth among the stars. 
As in a planted garden. Well for thee 
Dear child, in thine eternal childhood more 
Than I who wrestling would join arms with gods ! 
Do these things haunt thee ? Dost thou ever dream 
That thro' all human precincts evermore, 
Wherever Love hath honour and Beauty fame 
Thou shalt be welcome ? Dost thou think at all 
Of those who in the centuries to come 
Shall seek thee V Men who in a golden time, 
Noblest, shall rule a nobler race than ours. 
These shall have read the shining scroll on high 
And known what thoughts they be that God writes 

down 
Upon his starry tablets, and for these, 
Full-grown, this Mother Earth round whom to-day 
Men stand as children spelling Truths unknown, 
Shall close the open book upon her knee, 
And tell out of her deep invisible heart 
The secrets of her youth ! But these shall pause 
To hear thee. Amy ; bending from their thrones. 
Among which thou Avith simple step and sweet, 
Dressed in thy country life, goest in and out 
By right, for thou art mine ! 

In penury, 
In cold oblivion, in a tortured life, 
Have strange looks lightened from thee ? Hast 

thou seen 
How proud they are Avho in the years to be 
Would give their queenly crowns to change one day 
With thee, or have it for a moment said 
Of them as it shall be for ever said 
Of Amy ? Has it been that thou hast lain 
Grandly upon the racking hours, aye curved 
The paly channels of thy tears with pride ? 
Smile on, for well thou mayst ! If haughty eyes 
Refuse thee, and the front of jewelled state 
Thine unadorned poor presence, if false tongue 
Blaspheme thee, or cold heart look lightly on 



I5ALUKK. 451 

Thy woe, doth ever music in the air 

Perplex thee ? Doth the mist of morning shape 

Altar and arch and all the fretted pile 

Pompous and grey, where men one day shall sit 

Upon the graves of them who passed thee by, 

And use their sculptured pride to rest the weight 

Of the forgotten flesh that the wrapt soul 

May hear me well because I speak of Thee, 

In terror or in beauty ? And my love 

A rushing mighty wind goes thro' the place 

In thunders whereat underfoot the dead 

Move the cold stones, and the great roofs and aisles 

Are shaken as with passion ! And thou, Amy, 

As a white bird across a sunset sky 

In likeness of an angel to and fro 

High wingest thro' the tumult of the dome, 

In the red windy music. 

Or, the storm 
Being spent, and stillness like the sudden dark 
Fallen on the listening senses, in the pause 
I breathe upon the dumbness of the air 
And heal it, and my breath sweet thro' the hush 
Floodeth the fragrant silence which unstirred 
Fills full of me, as an unclouded noon 
Of balmy light ; and thro' that golden noon 
Thou sinkest slow while reverent heads are bowed. 
And bosoms heave, and the cold thrill of awe 
Pales the proud face and bends the feeble knees 
As if a God came down. For thou art mine, 
And I will have it so. 

Amy (7'etu7'ning). A croAvn ! a crown ! 
Balder. My beautiful ! 

Amy. Am I ? Then give me now 

The long long promised lesson ; teach me what 
Is beauty. I am \ery well to-day, 
My brain is like that sea of glass and fire 
Whereof we read together, wlicreupon 
The angels walked. Let them walk thro' my soul. 
Dost thou rememl)er idle da\s when we 



452 BALDEK. 

Lay here, and thou didst roll the broken rocks 
That spun into the valley round as stars ? 
So take the worlds and bowl them round about me, 
For well I think thou canst ; and I '11 not flinch ; 
Nay try me ! 

Balder. And thou liest among the bells 

And blossoms, and lookest up to any star, 
And thinkest in some Angel's face to read 
The mystery of beauty ? Loveliness 
Is precious for its essence ; time and space 
Make it nor near nor far nor old nor new, 
Celestial nor terrestrial. Seven snowdrops 
Sister the Pleiads, the primrose is ki n 
To Hesper, Hesper to the world to come ! 
For sovereign Beauty as divine is free ; 
Herself perfection, in herself complete. 
Or in the flowers of earth or stars of heaven. 
Merely contained in the seven-coloured bow 
Arching the globe, and still contained in each 
Of all its rain-drops. This, my thought, I give 
To thee, and am no poorer ; no, nor thou 
Still giving, nor a singular of all 
Who ever shall possess it, tho' my thought 
Become the equal birthright of unborn 
Nations of men, in every heart a whole. 
There cannot be a dimple on the cheek 
But all an everlasting soul hath smiled ; 
Day is but day to all the eyes on earth. 
No less than day to mine. Love strong as death 
Measures eternity and fills a tear ; 
And beauty universal may be touched 
As at the lips in any single rose. 
See how I turn toward the turf, as he 
Who after a long pilgrimage once more 
Beholds the face that was his desert dream, 
Turning from heaven and earth bends over it, 
And parts the happy tresses from her brow, 
Counting her ringlets, and discoursing bliss 
On every hint of beauty in the dear 



453 



Regained possession, oft and oft retraced, 

So could I lie down in the summer grass 

Content, and in the round of my fond arm 

Enclose enough dominion, and all day 

Do tender descant, owning one by one 

Floweret and flower, and telling o'er and o'er 

The changing sum of beauty still repaid 

In the unending task for ever new, 

And in a love which first sees but the whole, 

But when the whole is partially beloved 

Doth feast the multitude upon the bread 

Of one, endow the units with no less 

Than all, and make each meanest integer 

The total of my joy. Yet I have stood 

And clasped the earth as if she were a maid ; 

And held her, bearing all her sparkling stars 

Upon her like a vase of Castalie 

Upon a Greek girl's head, and made my boast 

Of her, and as a lover let her fill 

My feeding eyes ! Or I have hovered far 

Upon the verge of all things, and beheld 

The round globe as a fruit upon a tree, 

The spangled tree that night by starry night 

Stands o'er us, and have seen an angel pass, 

Pluck it and cool his lips, and drop the hull 

To chaos, and this earth, that I have loved 

And worshipped, fall out of the universe 

As unrespected as a dead leaf falls 

From summer aspen, while the innumerous stars 

Twinkled and quivered in the wind of God 

Walking between the shade of fruited heavens 

Untold as once between the river-trees 

Of Eden. But wherever I beheld 

Or one or every one, the whole or part, 

Some better thing that is not either or all 

For ever putteth forth from all and each 

A hand, and toucheth me, as he of old 

Was touched in sleep ; and I as one in sleep 

Know not or how or where, but, having felt, 



454 HALDEH. 

Believe, and serve the Invisible Unknown, 

Calling it Beauty. Therefore in sweet awe 

Tread the bright mysteiy of the sod beneath 

Thy feet, thou priest of Beauty ! who "dost stand 

Bareheaded 'neath the stars, nor dare to slight 

Her presence in the floweret of the field ! 

Beware, for beauty, as a maid, delights 

In summer ambush. Often the mere hem 

And flutter of her garment doth betray 

Her covert ; or low murmurings of the leaves 

O'er-fond about her naked loveliness, 

Or jealous whisperings of envious winds. 

Or voice of birds v<rhen her unwonted smile 

Makes sudden sunshine in the dusky dell. 

Or stir of showers that fall like kisses on her, 

Or song of streams made happy by her limbs, 

Is all her bruit. And oft she buried is 

— Rapt from her upper realm by gnomes and 

ghouls, 
A moment powerful in the pause of Fate. 
And her immortal body thrust in haste 
Below the earth some lingering tress reveals 
That floateth like a floweret in the wind. 
There shalt thou stand, and say thy counter-spell, 
Bard of the future ! Master-Prophet ! Man 
Of Men, at whose strong girdle hang the keys 
Of all things ! Lo, the gaping earth and all* 
The breathing presence of the Goddess risen, 
At thy shrunk side full statured from the grave. 

Amy. Art thou not he ? 

Balder. The day shall answer. 

Amy. I 

Will answer for the day. And being He 
Thou must be born to feel as no man felt 
Before thee. • Husband, to be born to feel 
As no man felt before thee ! I do yearn 
To know ! Not yonder panting lamb that kneels 
To drink is more athirst — 

Balder. My beaming Amy ! 



BALDEli. 455 

1 stroke the tresses from thine eager brow, 
And looking on thee deem the prodigy 
Already wrought. 

Amy. Thou wilt not mock me, husband ; 

Thou must have somewhat in thee hid and deep, 
Which, when the future Truth shall be revealed, 
Will rise to meet it. Try thy soul for me 
With many thoughts as fishers try a lake 
With flies ; it may be thou shalt find a shape 
Whereunto something in thy soul shall rise 
That never yet hath risen. Hast thou no guess 
Like the dim pictures of a blind man's brain, 
Or as altho' thou touch me in the dark 
I know- the hand is thine. 

Balder. The man born blind, 

Having felt fire and handled a round ball, 
Hath better image of the luminous sun, 
•Nay is more able to conceive the truth 
Of some ethereal colour indescript 
By gross experiment and thick contact 
Of palpable occasion, than my soul 
To know the Absolute. Nevertheless, 
I have my blind man's dream, and tell it thee 
As Blind to Blind. In Deity, my child, 
There is which no man hath seen, nor can see, 
Nor in the eternity to come will see. 
To know it undestroyed were to be God 
Indeed. That Work of God's which is concrete 
Of this tremendous attribute we name 
Sublime ; and in the corporal Idol own 
What angels and archangels in their hour 
Of extasy when they look up to God 
Undazzled, and outpierce the watching eyes 
Ineffable before the throne that from 
Eternity and to Eternity 
Ever awake and waking ever new 
From a past lesser sense as from a sleep 
In the unchanging Glory more and more 
And more for ever and for ever know — 



456 BALDER. 

Day without dark — a still increasing light, 
Cannot behold. We feel annihilation 
As 't were afar off, and mortality 
Is moved with muffled pangs. For so God wills 
His worship, and the strange perfunctory flesh 
Hath charge concerning us and bids the soul 
To rites unknown, as a dumb servitor 
His Lord to prayer. 

Also there is in God 
Which being seen would end us with a shock 
Of pleasure. It may be that we should die 
As men have died of joy, all mortal powers 
Summed up and finished in a single taste 
Of superhuman bliss ; or it may be 
That our great latent love, leaping at once 
A thousand years in stature — like a stone 
Dropped to the central fires, and at a touch 
Loosed into vapour — should break up the terms 
Of separate Being, and as a swift rack 
Dissolving into heaven, we should go back 
To God. What incarnation cloth obscure 
This attribute to safety and the health 
Of mortal apprehension, I accept 
As beautiful. Thus in all forms I see 
A mediator between God and man 
After the order of Melchisedek, 
A priest and king. Ruling them as a king 
Who have no God ; but in the sacred sight 
Of a diviner faith as sovereign priest 
Being God with us. And thus the shows of earth 
Must needs survive this world. And thus produced 
From their adverse far points in time and space 
All extant opposites of love and fear 
Meet somewhere in the heavens. How of this truth 
The inward voice not knowing what it saith 
Like a daft maid that hath a tale by rote 
Age after age to immemorial man 
Unwearied nor to weary taketh up 
The world-old parable ! In every tongue 



BALDER. 457 

Speaking of the Sublime and Beautiful 
As of eternal twins, one dark, one fiir, 
She leaning on her grand heroic brother 
As in a picture of some old Roinaunt. 

Amy. Now I will crown thee. 

Balder. Wherefore ? for we rule 

By right which any diadem on earth 
Nor gives nor takes. Here on this summer bank 
With neither gold nor tinsel, cap nor crown, 
Hocus nor title, puck nor premier, gown 
Nor robe of state, nor conjuring-rod nor sceptre, 
Nor high nor low grimace of sovereignty, 
To lie here thus and find the earth and air 
Conscious ; or mid their fealty and unclaimed 
Allegiance, free as the wild phantasy 
I follow, and as far from common men, 
Sole wandering like an unasserted god 
Displendoured undeclared but not unknown 
Thro' the sequestered places of my reign. 
Lone glens and glades, dells and enchanted streams, 
Silent hill sides, and holy mountain toi)s 
Untenanted, without the care of kings 
Counsel or forethought or the toil of change, 
But pausing in mere power where'er I love, 
As the heart beats to people them at will 
From heaven ! — my Amy, my throned queen, is this 
Royal? 

Amy. My dread lord, my dear husband, oh 
My teacher, friend, and father, all in one. 
My poet ! 

Balder. Shall I do a miracle 
To please thee ? This green realm of thine, this 

fair 
Sweet hill is lonely. Yon much-whispering stream 
Interprets no fond lovers ; the old thorn 
Flowers for no village maid ; the aged oak 
Shades not the hoary council of the dale ; 
Yet ne'er was silent wilderness more apt 
For vocal habitation. Say wilt thou 



458 BALDEU, 

Be monarch of a Pastoral ? Shall I 
Endow thy reign with subjects ? 

Amy. Whence and how ? 

Balder. This empty space above the turf is full 
Of livinp; shapes, that shapes as yet are not, 
But possible to my stronoj-rrazing eye 
Charming the air. Shall they come down to thee ? 
There are necessities they must obey, 
Laws which these undimensioned wanderers 
Cry out to think of; thou hast heard them cry 
When we have sat together on the hill 
Upon a night of wind, for well they know 
That whoso of their viewless race shall pass 
Hapless across the field of poet's gaze 
Is bound. 

Amy. Thou seest him ? 

Balder. I but teel the placer 

Informed with presence, which my fixed eye 
Constrains, till having broken the first law 
The essential motion self-perpetuate 
Of spirits, and unhesitating change, 
Time holds and all the straits of lower life 
Compel. 

Amy. Alas ! Alas ! 

Balder. I see them yield 

Ponderable, visible, subdued 
To mortal separation and the lot 
Of self and substance ; flushed with earth, and sad 
With human beauty. 

Amy. Pity ! 

Balder. My own Amy ! 

Amy. Heed it not. Love. A shower out of yon 
Heaven 
Depeopled. Tell me. 

Balder. These existences, 

Won from the elements, and of a life 
Unknown, nor bounded by the days of ours. 
Cannot regain estate and order in 
The evermovins orbit and weird dance 



BALDER. 459 

Of spirits whence they fell ; which, while mine eye 

Detains them, desperate, is beyond the verge 

Ethereal and inexorable revolves 

Careering thro' the spheres. They, lost, return 

No more to airy being, but, having touched 

This globe, are thenceforth a terrestrial part ; 

Assume our fate, and clothed upon as we 

Take human functions, but, by gross decess 

Of organs and the lower use of speech 

Cannot convey out of their charged souls 

The secrets of the past ; and looking wrongs 

Untold, and incommunicable woes. 

And strange imprisoned joys for ever dumb, 

Go forth disguised in manhood to enrich 

A thankless world. 

Thou art wistful, my fair face. 
To thee I dream. 

Amy. Dream on ! 

Balder. Nay, not for thee 

The populous fever of a poet's brain. 

Amy. To-day ! To-day ! To-day thou saidst to me 
I should be with thee in thy Paradise. 

Balder. Aye, but the three days in the heart of 
the earth ? 
Dear happy child of sunshine, bless thy lot ! 
The grave for me ! For thee, who watchest in 

love. 
The garden of the sepulchre ! 

Amy. I ask not 

To see thine awful visions, but the Prophet, 
Having come down the hill, interpreteth 
To feeble ears. And all the shaking signs 
And thunders of the mountain may be read 
In whispers. Therefore put me like a sense 
Behind thine eyes, and let me know the unknown 
Thicken to apprehension. 

Balder. Come and see. 

At sultry noon, when earth and heaven are still, 
And everywhere the full and helpless air 



460 BALDER. 

O'er-fed with summer weighs upon the lids, 

Hast thou, long looking thro' the trance o' the 

time 
To the far misty distance, pale with heat, 
Beheld what more beheld became a cloud, 
Mountainous? But, at first, being less than seen, 
Did stir thee with no more than an unwilled 
Attention, subtle consciousness of great 
Approach, as yet beyond the shadowy verge 
Of knoAvledge ; which, being grown, became a 

sense 
Of form behind the veil, and quickened still 
Through the swift dawn of vision to the day 
Of perfect sight. 

Ask me no more. Alas ! 
Thine eyes are dim, my child, as if their rays 
Shone inward ; look forth on me ! This is thine, 
This sun-light world ! Sport thee, Proserpina, 
In upper air, with native things that are ! 
Enough forthee, oh fairest, that the flowers 
Are fair ; enough for them that, being born. 
Thou takest them to a breast more fair than they. 
Not thine to seek them in the earth, not thine 
The gendering caves and secrets where thy spring 
Is gestate, and the summer yet to be 
Seethes dark. That underflow and subterrene 
Wherein the future heaves, and time to come, 
Like an embowelled earthquake yet unbelched 
Disturbs our world, is mine. 

Amy. I cannot play ; 

My heart is heavy with thy strange sad thoughts ; 
The daisies look too happy ; tell me, love. 
Some sorrowy history. 

Balder. I had a dream 

Last night ; and it was sad enough to tell 
In a wan autumn night of falling stars. 
Thou wert most beautiful, but some dread fate 
Had touched thee, and dried up the hidden springs 
Of mortal being ; like a famished plant 



BALDEll. 461 

Which fills its outer blossom from the core 

Of vital substance, the material life 

Within thee fed a phantom, and did pass 

Transmuted into beauty. I beheld. 

I clasped thee as the circling shore doth clasp 

The ebbing sea, or one that loves a ghost 

Straineth the vain air in his void embrace ; 

As who should take the snow into his breast, 

I took thee pale and cold, and bared my sword, 

And glaring upon heaven and hell defied 

The hosts to touch thee ; and above, below, 

There was such silence that the bitter laugh 

Within my empty heart rose out of me 

To the four corners of the world, and came 

Back like the mockery of exulting fiends ! 

Thou wert exhaling as a flower that spends 

Its soul in fragrance, and I seized the flower. 

And in the hollow of these passionate hands 

Strove in my mortal agony to shut 

The breath of life ; oh how I cherished thee ! 

I took thy trembling lamp, and in my robe 

Of love enwinding wrapt it from the wind. 

And made a tabernacle next my heart, 

And drew my soul out of the universe 

To watch it there, and see with deadlier truth 

The soft unflickering flame burn low and low. 

If Death had come to snatch thee from my arms, 

We had fought sore, and my wild grasp had proved 

Too strong even for him ; but thy life died ; 

And while I held thee, faded from my sight 

Like autumn in November. And I hugged 

— A desperate infidel — the limbs wherefrom 

The sap did sink, and even while I gazed 

The beauty fell. Calling on summer time. 

And giving names of gladness to the Sparse 

Sick leaves that waited thin and flushed with death 

The last dread gust, but inly cursing God, 

And groaning in my soul for whomso lay 

In straits like mine. Then, in the wont of dreams, 



462 BALDKK. 

We were apart. As when some pair in lands 

Of buried thunder, walk forth side by side, — 

The unknown line of fate between — and earth 

Yawns, and each, moonstruck, on a separate shore 

Receding diverse, swift thro' sounding glooms, 

Knows but a lengthening distance and a black 

Abyss. Anon, I must return ; what sprite 

Of eager evil rode upon the wind 

I wist not, and I knew not in my dream 

What dreadful need compelled me, nor what hands 

Innumerable, wheresoe'er I turned. 

Thrust me to thee ; nor how thro' ill on ill, 

Battling and bruised, with the blind might of love 

I sought thee, nor why drawing near 1 saw 

One as expectant on the threshold stand. 

And one that kept the stair, and ready doors 

Oped as I came, and no man asked me whence. 

Till at the highest of the creaking house 

Lo the strewn rushes, and a hush of awe ! 

And some who in the way would check my speed 

With words unheard ; and, through the whispered 

press. 
Fevered and loud the dread and hissing breath 
Of mortal throes. Then cried I once as he 
Who takes his death, and sprang in, and fell .down 
Wild on my knees beside thee, thee upon 
A low poor pallet by the hasty hand 
Of pity rudely curtained, and above 
The bed, thro' a mean lattice wide for air. 
The still and starry heaven that I saw not 
JShone, I rent back what hid thee, and beheld 
The tortured witness of thy dying face, 
Thy face. 

Which thou didst lift a little way to me, 
Silent, as conscious all the fearful tale 
Was writ there, and didst creep upon the aruis 
That clasped tliee, and being pillowed once again 
On the sole breast where thou couldst sleep in 

peace, 



BALDER. 463 

I'he struggling life gave way before tl;e wont 
Of rest. The painful limbs contract with pangs 
Relented, and with sudden weight and strange 
The fleshless form wan as a withered child 
Sank low. I felt ; and a great wind of fear 
Struck down my heart, and deadly consciousness 
Of present evil met an outer sea 
Of flooding ill unknown, that surged me in 
From all the black horizon of the night, 
Drowning the world. I clenched thee where my 

heart 
Had broken, but thou stretched out madest no sign. 
No, tho' I bent above thy face, and all 
The throbbing functions of my desperate life 
Forsworn that thou didst live, stood still to see. 
Thy tongue is silent, and thy moveless breast — 
Thou hast gone down out of thine eyes, 't is dust 
The tugging earth doth claim ; the strife is o'er. 
And the stern universe too strong for me. 
Then I looked up, and a great inward cry, 
With the whole utterless strength of my mad soul. 
Arose. Whereat my inner frame convulsed 
Quaked and rocked Reason from her seat. No 

man 
Heard it, no, not the listening mourners round 
The chamber door, no, not thyself, tho' late 
Perception lingered in the ear of Death ; 
But it filled Heaven, Amy, and the very stars 
Shook. 

Wherefore art thou putting back the wind 
As if it were an enemy ? Alas 
Her flushed cheeks ! and her hands upon her brow ! 
My little Amy, I am near, fear not T 
We are awake ! I touch thee with my hand ! 
Thou hast not stirred — this is the very place 
Where we two sat, and knew that we were happy — 
It must be well with thee — 

Amy. My pain ! ray pain ! 

Oh Husband tell me it is evening; say 



464 HALDKU. 

The sun is set ; say it is dark to thee ; 

No, no, it comes ! it comes ! Husband ! it comes ! 

Like a great Vampyre blackening all the air, 

Milking the day oflight and sucking blood 

Out of the cheeks o' the World. My pain ! my 

pain ! [Pauses. 

Why dost look wretched Husband ? we are fools.* 
No there Avas nothing fair ! 't was all a dream ! 
A flight of happy auicls stopped to rest 
And stood upon the earth and hid it out ! 
And now they rise again ; hark how they rise ! 
And all that seemed the surface of the world 
Goes up, cind the foul earth is like a skull 
Scalped of its golden hair. Do not go up ! 
Do not go up ! I catch your skirts ! my child, 
My little child, my little child, — me also — 
Me also — oh me also ! 

Balder. The sun shines, 

This flower is the same colour ; the bird sings ; 
The clouds, the plain, the mountains, are not 

changed. 



SCENE XXV. 

The Study. Baldek, solus. 

Balder. Who is He 
To whom this toilsome and producing earth 
Is as a cunning workman ? what are they 
Whose lot is to enjoy as ours to lose ? 
To what fair soil do they transplant our bliss 
And batten on the harvests that did sprout 
In blood of ours ? 

Where be those planted fields 
Wherein the everlasting flowers are full 
That budded here ; — whose tender germs, forsooth. 



UALDEH. 465 

In all the universe could find no place 
Warm as this bosom, and that would not root 
Save in a human heart ? 

Where art thou, joy 
Of yesterday? In whatsoever world 
Whatever eyes inherit thee, what lips 
Would taste, what hands majestical possess 
What breast contain, I interdict them all ! 
Thou art mine ! Do thou but bless them with thy 

least 
Enjoyment and I curse thee with my curse, 
A Father's ! What ! am I but dung, you Heavens, 
To grow your lush delights V 

Fool, fool, fool, fool ! 
What is the flower but that on which it fed ? 
The same continued atoms now reset 
In fashion to be glorious ? Are we not 
As he who lay a hundred years ago 
In yon cross road, an elm-stake thro' his midst 
That burgeoned, and he went up thro' its veins 
Out of his prison into the bright air 
And laughed green leaves, and so his felon shame, 
His rotting shame, dark in the wormy earth, 
Sprang to a tree, that with ten thousand hands 
Greets the familiar winds, and first and last 
Salutes the sun ? 

Aye, if I could go up ! 
If all these whirling passions lifted me 
As whirlwinds lift the sea or the Simoom 
Dust such as I ! 

Oh Earth, that every year 
Conceivest and hast no power to bring forth, 
And year by year beglnnest a psalm unsung, 
So as with thee is it with all of thine ? 
As one who in a crowd of recreant men 
Begins a chant of freedom, and with brow 
Lift to the glowing sun, sings the first stave 
Triumphant, but no ring ot bold refrain 
Surrounds him pausing for the wonted shout, 
3(» 



466 BAL1)P]R. 

And he looks down to pallid lips and eyes 

And all the silent treason, and, undone, 

Sinks on the sward, and hides his shamed face ; 

So ever looking to a golden time 

At each new year, impatient, thou criest out 

" There shall be ! " — and art silent, casting dust 

Upon thine head. 

Oh, season ever new. 
Oh Spring that risest with ns, sun by sun ! 
Whither thine hurrying stream, where thy full tide, 
Thy neap excess, and overflow ? What vale 
Far off in heaven, dost thou yearly flood 
With rainbow waters worthy of thy well. 
Ah fountain Arethuse ? For never here 
Thy consummation ; but what time we hail 
Thine outleap, and the pulsing channels sing 
Somewhat beyond the verdurous verge drinks down 
The sudden waters, leaving yellow sands 
That autumn gathers, till the rock beneath 
Shines in the frost of winter. 

Where on earth 
Is the unknown meridian of that day 
Which to the Morn I met upon the east, 
Should be as man to babe V Doth the young moon 
Complete her promised light or multiply 
Her beauty by her days V 

Where is that rose 
Which he who gave its bud as hieroglyph 
Of budding love would own the equal sign 
Of love's full-flowered perfection ? 

Of what blood 
And changeling race are we who fill this earth, 
Whereunto, hour by hour of every day 
And night of all its fruitful centuries. 
Children are born ? 

Oh little child, girl-child, 
Last daughter of the old manorial house 
In the green village, thou who when the sun 
Is rising, and above, below, around. 



BALDEK. 46 7 

The dew-drops shine, as every bough and spray 
Blade leaf small petal and least acrospire 
Yea, the unbodied joyance of the air 
Had eyes, and smiled to see him, comest forth 
Into the morning as an element 
Of such ethereal season duly sweet 
And sweetly due, while singing birds and bees 
Sound like the bubbling of that stream of day 
Whereby thou, tripping, givest song for song ! 
Fair happy child, who goest at thy will 
Into the sunny midst as a white bird 
Into the crystal water that reflects 
Spotless a spotless image, pure in pure. 
And each unlessened still enhancing each, — 
The image whitens the white wave, the wave 
Adds the pure image to the floating snow ; — 
Thou who art native to the good of all ; 
For whom the unsullied fairness of the earth 
Guards not herself, nor deprecating hands 
Mystic arise out of the Beautiful 
To put thee from the beauty ; who dost tread 
The daisies like a morning-wind and spill 
Dews from lithe buttercups that fill again 
With drops of pleasure ; Oh thou unknown essence ! 
So near the eyes, so distant from the heart, 
When dost thou take our nature, and become 
No more than we ? Something within her looks 
A strange light through her lashes, and a joy 
Beyond our throb. It cannot be that this 
Abideth with her, for such bliss fulfilled 
Thro' all the coming seasons that must yet 
Accomplish woman, and increasing still 
Within the ampler temple, were a sight 
To breed rebellion in the universe. 
Burn every world with jealousy of her's, 
Summer this earth, and make the schooldame Na- 
ture 
Break thro' the ill-assumed severity 
Of her enforced aspect, with a cr}- 



468 BALDER. 

Be all the mother, catch thee to her heart, 
Begin the golden ages, and in thee 
Restore mankind. Therefore, thou most fair child. 
Here thou hast no completion. In what hour 
Of what set night wilt thou give up this ghost, 
Exhaled as the last fragrance from a flower 
Unchanged in hue ? Upon what destined morn 
Shall she come down a stranger to the board 
Where the same face and form shall take a place 
Not hers, and answer to familiar names 
That have no owner upon earth ? Of them 
Who loved her is there one who shall be grave 
With an unconscious sorrow, knowing nought, 
But saying in himself, since such a day 
My heart is poorer ? Is there one of all. 
Who thinking of a blissful time gone by 
That floats in on his day-dream like sweet air 
From heaven, sun-bright and full of golden sounds 
Going and coming, at one happy voice 
Among the choir, starting, shall cry " Ah whose ? " 
And muse, and pass his hand across his brow 
Perplexed ? Will they be sodden with a spell, 
Nor lift astonished eyes and hands to see 
Her shining crescent fill no fuller moon 
Than others ? Nor so much as droop a lid 
Sighing, as when the pulsing heart of youth 
In mere abundance of young life's excess 
Beats an unknown approach that never comes, 
And we look up expecting, and look down 
With melancholy wisdom mildly sad, 
Smiling moralities ? 

They will behold. 
And she shall grow and marry, breed and die. 
Even as her mother, and of many none 
Shall question her. Nevertheless at last 
Truth shall be justified. Of them who deck 
Her bier, or chant her thro' the pompous aisle, 
Or load the blazoned marble with her broad 
And gravid virtues, or in sable grief 



BALDER. 469 

Swell the dark progress winding long and slow, 
Stately to honourable tombs, no hand 
Will write upon her coffin, " This is she 
Who played among the roses." 

Bitter heart, 
That art so sternly just, is she as far 
From the dear promise of her youth as thou 
From yesterday ? 

Thou little phantom child. 
That merely passing thro' my tranced soul, 
Hast left thy bright path, like the quivering track 
Of any fleeting star, what is that scheme 
Of life where this divine emotion finds 
Its equal place, and in the balanced whole 
Of still renewed proportion gives and takes 
Worthy consent ? Where doth the Man complete 
The Poet ? My chief impulse, and king-thought, 
Capital virtue, and consummate act. 
To what consorted system, yet unknown. 
Do these belong ? Of Avhat colossal frame 
Do I, like some rude hewer of the rock, 
Dishume the giant limb from my rent heart, 
And cannot guess its fellows ? 

Mystery 
Of mysteries, like some great vapouring cloud 
Topping a cumulous Heaven of mysteries ! 

[A long pause. 
Have we been all at fault ? Are we the sons 
Of pilgrim sires who left their lovelier land. 
And do we call inhospitable climes 
By names they brought from home ? 

Who shall declare ? 
Which of us hath beheld what first was called 
" Order " ? Since bad hath worse, who testifies 
That our serenest spectacle is not 
The prime Confusion ? Where the human sight 
That ever looked on what they name in Heaven 
Beauty and Good ? 

That which we fondly deem 



470 BALDER. 

A happy universe of part with part 
Well-placed, and call it the full countenance 
And noblest front of things, I could believe 
To be upon the very skirts of God, 
Aye where they roll in tumult, and do flap 
In the wind of his going. 

This is Chaos, 
The Chaos whereof Poets sang, and sing 
Unconscious, never having seen or heard 
The harmony of Nature This broad light 
Is darkness. I who speak of me and mine, 
Am but a living hand rent from its trunk 
In the black vortex, and amid the waste 
Of loaded disproportion and the foul 
Incongruous ferment of these elements 
Which might be worlds and men, touching at once 
The grains of all unlikeness, to and fro 
And up and down among the seething mass 
For ever lifted, grasping dust or flame, 
Each while I hold it Me, and each alike 
Put out for any other. Nought between 
A god's heart and the abominable extremes 
Of the worst brood of sin's most loathsome world 
Impossible ; nought certain but the pain 
Of finding all unsure. 



SCENE XXVI. 

The Study. Baldek, solus. Through the door the voice of 
Amy. 

Amy. Surely the Lord is cruel but to me, 
And over bounteous to the race of men 
With mercy taken from my single lot. 

I am the dwarf of this great family, 

The favoured lips do drink the wine of life. 

And all the mingled lees fill up my fate. 



BALDEK. 471 

I am a place where music music meets, 
Putting- it out ; by how much joy is loud, 
I am the darker silence : all the lines 
Of sorrow cross above my wretched head. 

They are grown sour with sweetness, they are proud 
With pleasure, they care not to keep awake 
Even to be happy. Like a slave they bid 
Their bliss abide their time, and, like a slave. 
It fans their happy faces while they sleep. 

Ah Heaven ! they sleep upon the flowery banks, 
And daylight flowers fill them with honey-dreams, 
And pleasured smiles do light their languid lips. 

Ah Heaven 1 they stand amid the fruited trees. 
The golden-fruited trees, and every wind 
Daubs the rij)e fruit upon their sated lips. 

Ah Heaven ! they lie beside the living stream, 
And the superfluous stream o'er-wells his banks, 
And laps sweet waters to their happy lips. 

Where they do most enjoy my need is worst ; 
The living cup they spill would save my life ; 
The joy that wearies them would give me rest. 

I lie down in the night but cannot sleep ; 
I keep vain vigil for my plighted bliss ; 
I strain after the fruit I may not touch, 
And cannot reach the river tho' I die ! 



SCENE XXVII. 
The Study. Balder, solus. 



Balder. And is this your device, you Heavens, 
When ye would have the music of our groans ? 



4 72 BALDER. 

The feeble lamentations of such pale 

Hereditary anguish as is born 

To pangs, and with the dread entail receives 

Inheritance of patience, the dull howl 

With which accustomed guilt receives his stripe 

In skin that thickens to the lash, each ill 

That carries with the wrong the slow redress 

Cries not for you ; the lax and languid strings, 

Which Nature, careful of herself, doth loose 

To save her heart, cannot ring out such sounds 

As startle pleasure in your sated ears. 

They should be giants who make sport for gods ! 

As we enjoy we suffer ; legends tell 

That Eden is the utter wilderness, 

And the ai'changel's stature did become 

The measure of the fiend. Therefore, ye eld 

And sager gods, whose reeking Vulture once 

Did gorge your youthful vengeance on the rock 

In Crete, ye have grown wise, and no more 

Subtract the needful vitals that may throb 

A lustier pang, nor bleed the bull ye bait. 

Prometheus, keep thine heart ! There is no trick 

Of Hell's contrivance that can plague thee so, 

Nor with as subtle mastery dispense 

Such dire infliction ! P^ven the rude skill 

Of mortal cruelty hath learned to breed 

The gladiator to die hard ; and they 

Who roast the human feast upon the shore 

Do supple him with kindness. What nice nerve 

Thrills the best pleasure twangs the sorest pain ; 

The sense that faints with bliss will faint with woe : 

And he who dieth of a rose is damned 

Upon the thorn. Therefore, ye jubilant gods, 

Pamper the victim, fill his veins with joy. 

Build him of soft endurance, tender and strong 

As a flayed lion ; finish each stern power 

To such an exquisite final that it ends 

A plumed feeling ; let delicatesse 

Weave his thin cuticle, and mesh him in ; 



I$ALDER. 473 

Be his most sensitive structure the extreme 

That meets and makes a whole with matchless 

strength — 
Even as the dread Apocalyptic beasts 
Were full of eyes. Thews of asbestos, ribs 
Of adamant, wound in so fine a thread 
Of life produced and ambient that he stands 
The heroic total of great opposites ; 
Firm as a tower in any wind that blows, 
And trembling to a fragrance in the wind ! 
Then on some human pyre whose dainty frame, 
As 't were of frankincense and gums of Ind, 
His vital heat might warm into decay, 
Stretch him out, like the prophet on the dead, 
Limb upon fateful limb, and bind him down 
With the strong bonds of love, and rivet fast 
What everlasting anguish could not break ! 
And fire the pile ! and let your ready flames 
Wrap the incumbent health and scorch the strength 
They not consume ! unguarded, unsuspect. 
Naked, and toiled, not as a hero falls. 
Nor in -the wont of battle to receive 
His fate, and, by contending, half subdue ; 
But bound and prone, expatiate with nice art 
To the invenient horror, oped and spread 
To the elective lust of keener flame. 
Lifting with incommunicable throes 
The inevitable torment, leaping high 
In vain and higher, every desperate strain 
Stirring new fires that burn a loftier bound 
That fans worse anguish and more wild despair 
For ever self-renewed, let him plunge, gods, 
And cheer Olympus ! 



474 



SCENE XXVIII. 
The Study. Baldek. Enter Dr. Paul. 

Balder. Come ? Thanks ! 

Doctor. How ? is she worse ? 

Balder. I know not that. 

I sent for thee to hear yet once again 
The story of her sorrows. 

Doctor. The old errand ! 

Balder. Not so. Thou hast been here in vain to 
seek 
A hope, but I send for thee now to find. 
Cure her ! 

Doctor. Four solemn times within this month 
Have I told thee 

Balder. Paul, Paul, if I can bear 

My portion in this venture dost thou blench 
At thine ? Is it so very much that thou 
Who canst sit careless of the stars, whose hand 
Shakes not already with adverse aspects, 
Sliouldst draw the horoscope once more for me 
And cast the fates anew ? 'T is the last time. 
I swear that what conjuncts for bliss or bale 
This sovereiojn hour determines I accept 
As doom. Therefore be patient. Strain thy skill ! 
Draw it so well that were the burning sun 
Nought but an eyeball, and his sight to thine 
As he to thee, he could not magnify 
Thy deviation ! Thine art is not mine, 
I am no Esculapian, but I know 
I^ess alteration than our sense can mete 
Would make the inexorable asymptote 
Close like fond lips. Get thee new instruments ; 
No pinhole points and measure of mortal hairs, 
But compass that shall set his foot between 
Two feathers of a butterfly ; a scale 
Scored with 



BALDEK. 475 

Doctor. Well, well, I '11 see her, and do my best. 
But hope for nought; if even thine anxious gaze — 
And love is more than science, — can discern 
No better sign. 

Balder. Full many a time and oft 
I have sat still thro' all a summer day, 
And listened to its change cis to a book 
Read by untiring lips. Thou Avouldst have sworn 
The day was like a field of buttercups. 
Where every shining moment stood and smiled 
Beside his golden likeness ; but not I ! 
I know the hours, and call them by their names, 
As a shepherd his sheep. So in thy world 
The microcosm 

Doctor. Ah that word microcosm ! 

A true word, my dear poet, a true word. 
For in six days God makes us, and, alas, 
If the seventh day wherein He rests be not 
The Sabbath of the grave — 

Balder. In that world, Paul, 

Which is thy study, as this other mine, 
I would look with thine eyes. 

Doctor. As you will, friend. 

Shall I go in ? 

Balder. Aye, no, I had forgotten ; 

She sleeps ; I '11 waken her. 

Doctor. Not hastily. 

Balder. With saddest music. 

[ Goes to his harp by the open window. 
Do ye well to smile 
Superior, ye wise Heavens, because ye see 
I am a coward and fool Time to keep 
Fate at the door ? All this and more I know 
No less than you. I am as wise as you 
If this be wisdom ! I pray you cloud over. 

[Balder sings. 

In the hall the coffin waits, and the idle armourer 
stands, 



4 76 BALDER. 

At his belt the coffin nails, and the hammer in his 

hands. 
The bed of state is hung with crape — the grand 

old bed where she was wed — 
And like an upright corpse she sitteth gazing 

dumbly at the bed. 
Hour by hour her serving men enter by the cur- 
tained door, 
And with steps of muffled woe pass breathless o'er 

the silent floor. 
And marshal mutely round, and look from each to 

each with eye-lids red, 
" Touch him not," she shrieked and cried, " he is 

but newly dead ! " 
" Oh, my own dear mistress," her ancient Nurse 

did say, 
" Seven long days and seven long nights you have 

watched him where he lay." 
" Seven long days and seven long nights," the hoary 

Steward said, 
" Seven long days and seven long nights," groaned 

the Warrener grey, 
" Seven," said the old Henchman, and bowed his 

aged head ; 
" On your lives ! " she shrieked and cried, " he is 
but newly dead ! " 

Then a father Priest they sought, 

The priest that taught her all she knew, 

And they told him of her loss. 

" For she is mild and sweet of will. 

She loved him, and his words are peace, 

And he shall heal her ill." 

But her watch she did not cease. 

He blest her where she sat distraught, 

And showed her holy cross, — 

The cross she kissed from year to year — 

But she neither saw nor heard ; 

And said he in her deaf ear 

All he had been wont to teach. 



HALDEK. 477 

All she had been tbnd to hear, 

Missalled prayer, and solemn speech, 

But she answered not a word. 
Only when he turned to speak with those who wept 

about the bed, 
" On your lives ! " she shrieked and cried, " he is 

but newly dead ! " 

Then how sadly he turned from her it were won- 
derful to tell, 
And he stood beside the death-bed as by one who 

slumbers well. 
And he leaned o'er him who lay there, and in cau- 
tious whisper low, 
" He is not dead, but sleepeth," said the Priest, and 

smoothed his brow. 
" Sleepeth ? " said she, looking up, and the sun rose 

in her face ! 
" He must be better than I thought, for the sleep 

is very sound." 
" He is better," said the Priest, and called her 

maidens round. 
With them came that ancient dame who nursed her 

when a child ; 
•' Oh Nurse," she sighed, " oh Nurse," she cried, 
" oh Nurse ! " and then she smiled. 

And then she wept; with that they drew 
About her, as of old ; 
. Her dying eyes were sweet and blue, 
Her trembling touch was cold ; 
But she said, " my maidens true 
No more weeping and well-away ; 
Let them kill the feast. 
I would be happy in my soul. 
' He is better,' saith the Priest ; 
He did but sleep the weary day. 
And will waken whole. 
Carry me to his dear side, 
And let the halls be trim ; 



478 BALDER. 

Whistly, whistly," said she, 

" 1 am wan with watching and wail, 

He must not wake to see me pale, 

Let me sleep with him. 

See you keep the tryst for me, 

I would rest till he awake 

And rise up like a bride. 

But whistly, whistly ! " said she. 

" Yet rejoice your Lord doth live ; 

And for his dear sake 

Say Laus Domine." 

Silent they cast down their eyes, 

And every breast a sob did rive, 

She lifted her in wild surprise 

And they dared not disobey. 
" Laus Deo," said the Steward, hoary when her 

days were new, 
" Laus Deo," said the Warrener, whiter than the 

warren snows ; 
" Laus Deo," the bald Henchman, who had nursed 
her on his knee. 

The old Nurse moved her lips in vain 

And she stood among the train 

Like a dead tree shaking dew. 

Then the Priest he softly stept 

Midway in the little band 

And he took the Lady's hand. 

" Laus Deo ! " he said, aloud, 

" Laus Deo," they said again, 

Yet again, and yet again. 

Humbly crossed and lowly bowed. 

Till in wont and fear it rose 

To the Sabbath strain. 

But she neither turned her head 

Nor " whistly, whistly," said she. 

Her hands were folded as in grace 

We laid her with her ancient race 

And all the village wept. 



HALDKJ;. 4 7H 

Balder. I think she stirs. Go in I 

[7^/ie Doctor enters., remains., and reappears. 

Balder. Is there no change ? 

Doctor. None that brings hope. 

Balder. That day seems scarcely past — 

That day of 

Doctor. My poor friend, when a ship strikes 

Long lime on the mad surge she heaves and falls, 
And dips in winds and waves her leaning spars: 
Till, like a dying horse, with a last plunge 
She rises, reels, and over from the reef 
Goes mast-down in the deep. To see her rise 
Rises the landsman's cheer along the shore. 
And sinks with her. 

Balder. Enough. 

Paul, long ago 
I said a time would come to raise the veil 
On yonder scroll. Lift it to-day. I owe 
No less excuse for my relentless gripe. 
And thy still barren labour. Read out, Paul, 
For I would hear what I have lost ; albeit 
To me those words are but a rosary. 
As unlike what they count as beads and prayers. 
Read slowly, and with a minute respect. 
As thou wouldst touch the enchanted elements 
On a magician's table — poor to look on, 
But things that, being moved, perplex the stars. 
And knot the threads of Nature. Do but fail 
Or falter, and by Heaven ! I strike thee dead ! 
Aye, marvel at me, for thou knowest not 
What I shall see. For thee, as men infer 
From maps and charts the living earth and heavens, 
Learn there what once was she — what is she now 
Thou knowest. 

Doctor (aside). He is pale, — pale to his lips. 
His eye is set. I '11 humour him. 

[Doctor lifts the veil, and reads the scroll beneath. 
(Beads). " In her. 

Nature's first thought was beauty ; she conceived 



480 liALUEK. 

Her image sitting in her robe of white 

Thinking of spring, and, at the fancy moved, 

Smiling breathed softly, and did turn to make 

The firstling snowdrop of the stainless year. 

And, as the year arose, her fairer thought 

Took substance, and, consummate in her care. 

Grew with the growing year ; for at her will 

Day after day past by, and passing dropt 

Its own memorial flower, the better sign 

Of all ; and night by night, when shades are deep, 

And that mysterious sorrow is transact 

Unseen, and there is weeping in the air, 

bhe, understanding all, midst common dews. 

Caught the accepted tear that makes the hour 

So boly. Nor herself in greater deeds 

Forgot the less, thro' each surpassing mood 

Jn which with higher extasy she wrought 

Abundant summer, whatsoe'er confessed 

Her happier hand — elect and dedicate 

Encreased the secret store ; and over all 

Frequent and fond with dainty change and wise — 

As meet perfection of each part admits 

Phoebus or Dian, — various balm of life 

She poured from golden and from silver vase 

Of sun and moon. But when the year was grown, 

(And sweet by warmer sweet to nuptial June 

The flowery adolescence slowly filled, 

Till in a passion of Roses all the time 

Flushed, and around the glowing Heavens made 

suit)) 
And onAvard through the rank and buxom days, 
Tho' she ceased not to work and help the year 
Great with the burden of the honeyed past, 
And gave her good deliverance and great pomp 
Of harvest, and in royal glory robed 
Matron and mother, to her dearer hoard 
She added nought, nor what her love had hid 
Unclosed before the broad unclouded face 
And heated welfare of the lusty world. 



BALDEK. 481 

But when the destiny that haunts the proud 

Did tardy judgment, and the prosperous year, 

Struck in her young^ maternity, beheld 

First born and last lie low, and wrapping wild 

The early mists about her, on the ground 

Amid her prostrate hopes disconsolate 

Sat veiled ; or standing forth with upstretched 

hands 
And strange appealing eyes, and wildered face 
Hectic with fate, looked like her spring-time self 
Transfigured on some martyr pile of woe 
Seen through the flame ; then Nature knew her 

hour 
And at conjunction of the setting signs 
Opened her sacred Casket and took forth 
Well-pleased : and of the lone and latter rose 
Pale Autumn violets, and all hapless blooms 
Did make in mournful fragrance sadly sweet 
The mortal breath of beauty." 

Balder. Do not smile ! 

This is no dream, for she came in September, 
And if she were o'erlaid with lily-leaves, 
And substantived by mere content of dews. 
Or limbed of flower-stalks and sweet pedicels, 
Or made of golden dust from thigh of bees, 
Or caught of morning mist, or the unseen 
Material of an odour, her pure text 
Could seem no more remote from the corrupt 
And seething compound of our common flesh ! 
Nay, as I oft have told thee — a whole year 
Ere she was born, her mother fed on fruits. 
Read on. Sir Science, for thou readest truth ! 
Truth is a Janus, Paul, but either face 
Herself, therefore be reverent. 

Doctor (reads.') " I have seen 

The poet in his pride, who of his urns 
And lachrymals and crystal chalices 
Hath one, most treasured of his treasure-house. 
To which he goeth only with full heart 
31 



4''5 2 11 A I, I •(•;*;. 

And leaves the fulness there ; ambrosial blood 
As of that cluster, weeping wine, wherein 
The blessing is, its vintage all unpressed 
Save by the purple and spontaneous touch 
Of too abundant being. Nature thus 
The Poet Nature singing to herself — 
Did make Her in sheer love, having delight 
Of all her work, and doing all for joy. 
And built her like a Temple wherein cost 
Is absolute, dark beam and hidden raft 
Shittim, each secret work and covert use 
Fragrant and golden, all the virgin walls 
Pure, and within without, prive and apert, 
From buried plinth to viewless pinnacle 
Enriched to God. 

" Ah, was the very air 
Ethereal round her, so that whoso breathed 
Revived to his best nature and grew bright 
For her sake, as a mote from dim to dim 
Sails the sunbeam V — What deity indwelt 
Her still small voice, which was her perfect self 
Audible — that most happy voice, which when 
It rose to gladness made men rich and glad 
Unminished, and receiving but to spend 
Sweeter abundance with a lovelier will. 
Gayer for gayety, but of the gay 
Still gayest, as bright sun o'er brightened fields 
Seems brighter, gaining from the light he gives. 
That voice which was to sorrow as its sigh, 
And by the side of wonted circumstance 
Went as the tinkle of Titania's feet, 
Ringing the hour of day on fairy bells 
Marriage or funeral. Nor less blessed when 
It fell into the bosom of the poor 
Like gold and silver. That dear voice which when 
She sang her life, the charmed listener hearing. 
Accepted for consummate loveliness 
Till she was mute, and, his divided soul 
Returning to the eyes, her silent beauty 



BALDER. 4«0 

By the higher sense perceived, seemed insomuch 
Diviner music. 

" Oft have I admired 
When the poor wayfarer on whom she looked 
Clothed in his tattered fortune did take rank 
A moment in her smile, and could not ask 
The alms his famine craved ; the passing thief 
Had virtue in her service, and the clown 
Grace to be hers. The maimed who chanced to 

meet 
Her far-off beauty on the way, aside 
Drew into shadow till she passed, nor begged 
Aught that might turn the light of her fair face 
On the too conscious fault ; and Lazarus 
Covered his sores with deeper sense of ill. 
Rude country-wives to whom in lane or mead 
Happened her sweet regards, with honoured face 
And thankful did obeisance going by 
As owning bounty and a duty known 
Unschooled ; the village children at the door — 
Little two-year children — having gazed, 
Ran to her as she passed and caught her skirt 
And looking up laughed strange intelligence. 
Abashed and pleased, in the mere act repaid, 
And wiser than the three-score-years-and-ten 
That chid the holy freedom, being purblind. 
For they who saw her were as one who knows 
A mystic sign and smiles with consciousness. 
There is a soul unto the grosser sense 
Of spoken language, an unuttered thought 
Virgin and peerless, which no man hath said 
Nor hath the hope to hear upon the earth, 
Tho' it be dear as the unbodied dream 
Of early love, familiar as the wife 
Upon his breast, albeit untouched as maids 
In Paradise. In every human speech 
No speaker but hath with huii, undeclared, 
This angel ; and doth bear about a thing 
Too lovely for his lips, belo\'cd unnamed. 



484 BALDEK. 

As every heart upon its secret, so , ,, 

The world did look on her ! Where'er she went^/ 

Nature in dale or hill, in cot or grove 

Owned her, and in the shepherd or the lamb 

Confest no less. The Lamb which to her knee 

Came fearless, unsuspicious of the grey 

Grim guardian of the fold who harmed her not 

Nor challenged her just right what-time she took 

The lambkin, willing, to her purer breast. 

Thus or in haunts beloved or foreign fields 

Her equal way was all among her own 

Unquestioned still, nor anywhere or new 

Or strange. We had a wonted bower, secluse. 

Of honeysuckle wild in mossy dell 

Facing the noon, and sheltered from the north 

By denser shade ; flowery it was and deep, 

And caught the flowing light as chaliced leaves 

The sunset. In the inner sanctities 

Shy birds did nest, and all the summer through 

Entering with tumult of distress I shook 

The troubled verdure, but she came at will 

And sat there ; and the birds went in and out 

As tho' she were so merely beautiful 

That nought betrayed her limits and she mixed 

She, undistinguished — with the love-lit air 

The fragrance and the summer joy that lived 

In that green bower. 

" So lovely in her rest 
More lovely her awakened beauty played 
The smiling pastime of her innocent life 
Gracious and holy, wherein fairest thought 
And fond performance thro' melodious hours 
Rhymed like a gentle ballad. All she did 
Expressed her. The mild lore and simple arts 
She knew and loved might exercise unblamed 
Chaste Flora's self or wliat pure essence warms 
The. happy difference of a morn of May. 
Song and answering lute, and mute delight 
Of pencilled touch, and nice dexterity 



HAL1)E1{. 485 

Of bending Eve in gardened Paradise 

Were hers ; she had a faerie forestrie 

Of birds, and bees, and summer flies ; she knew 

Sweet mysteries of sunrise and sunset. 

Of seasons, moons, and clouds. But chief in joy 

Her skill was among flowers, which in her hand 

Took better hues, and fell under her looks 

Into an ordered beauty as before 

Their queen ; and when they crowned her, unaware 

The butterfly did court the rose as still 

Upon the blushing tree. Yet more I loved 

An art which of all others seemed the voice 

And argument ; rare art, at better close 

Of chosen day, worn like a jewel rare 

To beautify the beauteous, and make bright 

The twilight of some sacred festival 

Of love and peace. Her happy memory 

Was many poesies, and when serene 

Beneath the favouring shades and the first star, 

She audibly remembered, they who heard 

Believed the Muse no fable. As that star 

Unsullied from the skies, out of the shrine 

Of her dear beauty beautifully came 

The beautiful, untinged by any taint 

Of mortal dwelling, neither flushed nor pale, 

Pure in the naked loveliness of Heaven. 

Such and so graced was she. 

" But not alone, 
Ah purest ! not alone in thy first reign 
Of placid pastures and beseeming woods 
Palatial, where the conscious waterfalls 
That leaped in bliss beside thee did no more 
Than all that gave thee thro' the loyal year 
Duteous attendance, not alone by glen 
Or mountain wert thou absolute ! nor he 
Who passed thee, tutelar, amid the wilds 
Of thine accustomed sanctuary alone 
Thy worshipper ! Hers was no vulgar glare, 
Startling the dazzled crowd to blink and gaze, 



486 15ALDER. 

Nor came she glorious as a summer noon. 

Melting all looks to pleasure and all limbs 

Kelaxing as with heat, and thro' the sense 

Sending soft breath of love and southern joy. 

The happy paths she blessed led not to courts 

Or cities. Loved and loving she would live 

No more accompanied than by what train 

Is love's and in the love-feast of her days 

Served while she sat or sat whileas she served ! 

To know where winding from the ancient tree 

By the grey style thro' copse and daisied dell, 

In every mood of immemorial mind 

The simple village went a thousand years ; 

Or o'er the brook upon the stepping-stones 

To follow unperplexed thro' bosky maze, 

The feet of sorrow to her shyest lair ; 

Or at the ruined cot, and down the dim 

Deserted path, to watch under the dust 

The unwonted grass rise slowly up and lift 

The memory of the dead from off the earth ; 

Or round the wildered garden to convince 

The graceless moss of greed ; Or from lone lane 

At summer eve to trace some ancient track 

A'field and learn what need or joy of life 

Saw viewless landmarks in the devious way, 

Her daily pleasaunce. But where men are met, 

If un propitious hap or lot unsought 

Awhile constrained her, fate that did the wrong, 

Jealous, allowed no other; as a King 

Seizing his bride, rapt from her native bowers 

Circassian, in the amorous crime completes 

His cruelty and makes the captive queen. 

Not otherwise, and looking like a flower 

Dropt in the city street — some blossom fair 

That grew dew-nurst and lone green miles away — 

Into the heedless crowd that knew her not 

She came uncrowned, and they wist not she came 

Till simply sitting in the parlous midst 

Her presence like a silent virtue spread 



liALDEi:. 487 

About her. For a little while she sat 

Unhonoured, but a consciousness disturbed 

The spot, and as a holy influence 

Did touch the unwilling people into awe, 

Whom gentle observance and sweet respect 

Disposed, till who partook her magic ring 

Still or discursive, sole or sociable, 

Each in his several function did denote 

Her place. Nor customary in mere use 

Perfunctory, and rite of cap or knee, 

The general homage ; but of some inborn 

Content and central sanction in the soul, 

Inmost and earlier than where creeds begin 

Or doubts divide. Men turned and asked not why, 

Nor, seeing, marvelled that they turned ; but apt 

Took reverent distance; nor, decorous, ceased 

The fealty of regard. With decent eyes, 

And with no louder sign nor needless bruit 

Of the unuttered reason than what-time 

On wintry day they face by mute consent 

The seldom sun. Thus she who came unknown 

Into the stranger crowd with modest step 

And eyes that rather would be ruled than rule, 

Having no need of praise, nor hope of fame. 

Nor conscience of dominion, did subdue 

Its chaos to her nature, being divine. 

And merely present could no less than stir 

The dull and grosser essence to revolve 

About her, as by instinct and hid force 

Of that well-ordered universe whereof 

Its matter was a part. Herself informed 

The jarring elements, till, as her sway 

No utter sign enforced, nor shows of power, 

Nor but a golden sweet necessity 

Sovereign, unseen, the subject heart gave like 

Confession. Not as they confess a queen 

With sudden shout, but as two friends regard 

A rising star, and speak not of it while 

It fills their gaze. The loud debate grew low, 



488 BALDER. 

What was unseemly chastened, and the fear 
Of Beauty waking her morah'ties 
Sent thro' adjusted limbs the long-forgot 
Ambition to be fair. Nor sex, nor rank, 
Nor age, nor changed condition, did absolve 
Her rule, which whatsoever was remote 
From sin the more saluted. Everywhere 
Babes smiled on her, and women on her face 
Did look as women look in happy love. 

" So the world blessed her ; and another world 

Like spheres of cloud that interpenetrate 

Till each is either, met and mixed with this. 

And as the angel Earth that bears her Heaven 

About her so that wheresoe'er in space 

Her footstep stayeth we look up and say 

That Heaven is there — She moved and made all 

times 
And seasons equal ; trode the mortal life 
Immortally, and with her human tears 
Bedewed the everlasting, till the Past 
And Future lapsed into a golden Now 
For ever best. She was much like the moon 
Seen in the day-time, that by day receives 
Like joy with us, but when our night is dark, 
Lit by the changeless sun we cannot see, 
Shineth no less. And she was like the moon. 
Because the beams that brightened her passed o'er 
Our dark heads, and we knew them not for light 
Till they came back from hers ; and she was like 
The moon, that whatsoe'er appeared her wane 
Or crescent was no loss or gain in her 
But in the changed beholder. I, who saw 
Her constant countenance, and had its orb 
Still full on me with whom she rose and set, 
Knew she had no lunation. In herself 
The elements of holiness were merged 
In white completion, and all graces did 
The part of each. To man or Deity 



BALDER. 489 

Her sinless life had nought whei'eofto give 

Of worse or better, for she was to God 

As a smile to a face. Ah God of Beauty ! 

Where in this lifeless picture my poor hand 

Hath done her wrong, forgive ; she was Thy smile, 

How could I paint her V That I dared essay 

Her image and am innocent, I plead 

Resistless intuition, which believes 

Where knowledge fails, and, powerless to define 

Or to confound, still calls the face and smile 

Not one, but twain, and contradicts the sense 

Material, which, beholding her, beholds 

Essence not Effluence, nor Thine but Thee." 

Doctor. Aye — veil it over ! 

Balder. Once again I say 

Cure her ! 

Doctor. And, good friend, hear me once for all. 
I have brouglit to your wife's lamented case 
What skill I own, — and twenty years of cure 
Have taught me something — but for much esteem 
Of her and you, I made her malady 
The subject of my college. I stand here 
A simple country surgeon, but where'er 
Men worship Science, some one of her Priests 
Calls me his friend ; whatever oracles, 
As yet unbruited, murmur from the cell, 
I learn from these. Therefore in my poor words 
You hear a verdict sworn to by the prime 
Of Europe. 

Balder. There is no most rare device 
Occult, or cunning of the eye or hand. 
Or mastery of subtle elements, 
Beyond thee ? 

Doctor. No. 

Balder. Whatever lesson new 

These latter days have spelled in the unread 
And polyglot palimpsest of this body 
Is thine already? Thou hast it within 
By rote ? 

Doctor. Yes. 



490 DALDEK. 

Balder. Let us speak of other things. 

The sun must be near setting — shall we watch 

him 
From the old rampart of my Ruin ? Follow. 
Doctor. With all my heart ! 

L They ascend to the ramjxirts. 

Doctor (evierging). Truly the light is sweet ! 

That winding stair — two hundred steps and 

more 

My head swims. 

Balder. 'T is a fearful height. My Dog 

Whose stature thou didst praise seen hence appears 
Notably less. His kennel which thou knowest 
Befits a mastiff of the English breed, 
Might house a cur. We have a legend here. 
A maniac dwelt in this old tower and hence 
Throwing his keeper, hid the battered corse 
In yonder tarn. His ghost preserves m}- fish. 
A dalesman would as soon drop line in hell 
As in the murder-pool. 

Doctor. I shudder. 

Balder. Sounds 

The old tale credible V How say thy craft V 
Is the leap death ? 

Doctor. Death to a hundred lives ! 

His mother would not know the face that reached 
Yon stones from these. 

Balder. Thou art a feeble man, 

I am no giant, but am thrice thy match ; 
Cure her ! 

Doctor. Thou hast mine answer. 

Balder. And thou mine. 

Cure her. 

Doctor. I cannot. 

Balder. In mine art I know 

Passion and terrible occasion make 
Men poets, poets gods. Thine may have like 
Apotheosis. Cure her I 



HALDKR. 491 

Doctor. Hands off! see 
The precipice we stand on 

Balder. Ah ! ah ! ah ! 

Cure her ! 

Doctor. Thou jestest with me ! 

Balder. By the Heavens 

No! 

Doctor. Stand back ! 

Balder. Cure her ! 

Doctor. Free me ! Mercy ! Help ! 

We have been friends, thou wilt not murder me ? 

Balder. We have been lovers, but I sent a shaft 
Into her heart. If thou canst draw it forth 
Well ; but if not 

Doctor. Nay, I can fi^ht for life ! 

Madman ! Hold ! Murderer ! Mercy ! Mercy ! 

Balder. Cure her ! 

Doctor. Spare me ! my wife ! my children ! 

Balder. Cure her ! 

Doctor. Christ ! 

God ! oh God ! 

Balder. Cure her ! 

Doctor. I will ! 

Balder {releasing hirn) . Thou wilt not ! 

Liar ! Begone ! Haste ! Lest in my despair 
Thou 'scape not twice. 



SCENE XXIX. 

The Study. Balder sohis. 

Balder. I will sit down 
And let the stars roll on. Such pitiless signs 
Cannot for universal health maintain 
An hour's ascendant. If the heavens could halt 
I might despair, but the worst orb that moves 
Betters my fate. 



492 



SCENE XXX. 

The Study. Balder sits by the open window. 

Balder. Thou dull tree, 
What and hast thou ojained nothing ? Not a twig, 
A leaf, a flower, a colour ? By my count 
Thou shouldst have leafed and summered, seared 

and'died 
Since I sat down beside thee. Nay, if I 
Had lifted up this head that thou dost shade, 
To see thee branchless, thy dismantled trunk 
Worm-wemmed in hollow age — I could have said 
" Why this is well, yes, thou and I, old friend, 
Have filled our days." 

[ Turns to papers on the table. 
How goes the human year ? 
The first of a new month ! I take my times 
And seasons as a traveller in the night 
Kneels by the stone beside the unknown way, 
And gropes with patient finger the moss-grown 
And mouldering miles ; while at his trembling 

touch 
Out of the ignorant strange dark comes forth 
The old remembered name, and or the light 
Of home, or the intolerable flash 
That sends him scorched and moaning. 

I remember 
A year ago to-day I left my fields 
To dwell in cities. How that black sad time 
Frowns back to this. The first dark day it rained, 
An inky rain blackening the civic shrubs 
And birds apostate whom my heart knew not. 
Between the door-sills flowed the narrow street, 
Betwixt the house-tops crept as foul a mirk 
Soaking and cheerless, as if overhead 
Another street, inverted in the air, 



BALDER. 493 

Let down an answering ooze ; and I beheld 

Nor felt it was not well ; till suddenly 

Upon the morrow eve the sun shone in, 

The country sun — and I rose up in haste 

And clasped my hands and cried " not here, not 

here 
For pity ! " as she cries whom secret shame 
Hath soiled, and puts away with passionate tears 
The old familiar kisses. The third day 
I went ; but in those three days saw strange sights 
And many, which men told me that the eyes 
Which dwell there daily saw and did not weep. 
I saw the palaces of throned Law 
Where Law supreme in red and ermine sits, 
And, like the fool's cap on the telescope 
With his pert sheepskin shuts out sun and stars. 
I saw the man-fruit on the gallows-tree ; 
It hung up like a fruit and like a fruit 
Shook in the wind, hke a fruit was plucked down 
And the dark wintry branch stood bare. That day 
I saw a withered woman in her rags 
Watch by a door and snatch Avhat lay within 
And feed her young. I saw a stout arm seize 
And hale her to a dungeon. The same hour 
I saw a young man in the flush of youth 
Broad in the sunshine of the city street, 
Meet a poor soul that once had been a maid ; 
She knew that she was desolate, and he 
Spat in her ruined face because he might. 
I did not hear that he was hanged or chained. 
And so the world went on. But was it thus 
That in the Eye of Him Avho made the world 
While it was yet unmade the thing to be 
Did golden revolution, and appeared 
So lov^ely that He made it ? If this earth 
Be but a Lazary, a madman's cell, 
A gaol, a charnel, wherefore was it reared 
So like a temple ? Hath a den of thieves 
The gates called " Beautiful ? " Or are these hills, 



494 liALDKK. 

Whereon the consecrated Noon doth set 

The prolden candlestick, and robed Eve 

Shall light her late burnt-offering in the west, 

The changers' tables ? Yet ah, who shall say 

" My Father's House," and by that right divine 

Dispose unblamed within ? Whose sinless cords 

Shall cleanse it ? What sufficient touch of faith 

Removing the great mountain that on high 

Holds back the imminent Hyaline, unsluice 

The second deluge ? Where is he on earth, 

At whose great word I, Avho sit here to-day 

In her fair porch and royal gate of all 

One sore from head to heel, should rise and walk ? 

And at what word that did not make me whole, 

Would I, for all the beauty of my place. 

Lift from the chaste chryselephantine floors 

One leprous limb V Yet who shall dare to cast 

A stone upon my sin, or with white hands 

Hale me beyond the portals ? Drugs there be 

For every ill, and in their books the wise 

Apportion each to each ; but who shall bring 

The Uving instance to the written saw ? 

For every sickness of a human soul 

There may be balm in Gilead, but what eye 

Infallible shall find, what lip shall name 

My hid disease ? To hell, ye empirics ! 

And burn your statutes. 

Who shall legislate 
For the unseen performance of the heart ? 
Or in the balance of his justice weigh 
The imponderable soul ? By what gross word 
Of this her rude interpreter assess 
Her necessary silence V By what work 
Of menial senses judge her viewless hand, 
Her secret enterprise, her unobeyed 
Commandment ; good in service turned to ill, 
Or ill so carried that it looked like good ? 
What profiteth to draw your lines about 
A haunted house, or hem a ghost with trench 



BALDEIJ. 495 

And scarped epaulment ? Canst thou chain the 

wind, 
Or put material fetters upon thoujrht 
That bloweth where it listeth ? Or debar 
The Soul from her delight ? Who shall keep 

watch 
O'er the forbidden treasure, and attach 
Her going out and coming in ? Show me 
The ethereal captive naked in the sun. 
Bound at thy chariot wheels ; bend at thy will 
Her free immortal limbs ; pass, under seal, 
The charter of her rights, repeal this sin, 
Enact yon virtue, with a single groat 
Endow a starved remembrance, confiscate 
That in the past that I could tell thee of, 
And I will hear ! Aye, send thy Sheriff, King, 
Into this bosom ; apprehend this pang ; 
Touch Me or these ; arrest that bloody knife 
Wherewith I quiver ; standing by my side 
Thrust in thine arm if thou art man, oh King ! 
And stay these burning hands that day and night 
Are felon here ! 

" King ! " Aye, that word crowns all ! 
Where is our King ? If there be some man built 
For each due office, and no man alive 
But in his place is matchless, where is he 
The head and master workman to dispose 
Tasks fit for all and each to his fit task ? 
For we are the disordei'ed elements 
Of that tremendous engine which, compact, 
Should put a soul into this floating earth 
And drive her thro' the stars ; make headlong way 
Dead in the wind of chance and all the tides 
Of fortune, laugh to scorn the storms of fate, 
Make white the deeps of chaos, and, at last, 
Cast her eternal anchor on the shore 
Of far applauding Heaven. 

But now unplaced 
Constrict in l)onds inordinate, or ties 



496 BALDER. 

With hopeless lesion lax, in unexplained 

Society consorted to no end, 

Or from connexion apt or impotent 

Absolved and separate, dissolute, poured down 

In orderly disorder, quick or dead 

Inert or vital as the several part 

Motive or to be moved fulfils in vain 

Its own peculiar, fruitful now no more 

In general welfare and the good ot all — 

We lie on heap, and each constituent finds 

Disastrous sloth or detrimental use ; 

Dead in himself, or motionless as dead. 

Oppressed beneath his fellows, or, uplift 

By wilfid hand of hapless circumstance 

And so applied, in sad unequal case 

With un adapted organs ill performs 

Unsuited functions, fine with gross, and gross 

With fine. If One Infallible might speak 

And make these dry bones live ! If any sign 

Could daily end this dire perplexity 1 

We are the sons of anguish ; we are born 

In labour and to labour ; toil and pain 

Begin us, and shall end us. It is well. 

We are your slaves, work your high pleasure on 

us ! 
Aye, load us till we crack, and our great wills 
Shall not be less than yours ! None of these things 
Move us, for none of these things our proud hearts 
Arraign or shall arraign you. Oh ye gods ! 
We are no rebels ; this our loud demand 
Is not the ill blooded and morose complaint 
Of secret hate, or the promulged war 
Of overt treason, but a claim of right 
Preferred by lips still loyal in the phrase 
Of sweet subjection, the ensheathed appeal 
Of armed allegiance, the obtesting cry 
Of a forgotten people. Ye are gods. 
And we are men ; so let it be. But ye - .,; 7 

Speak not our language nor we yours. If oo#:-~."-' 



r.Ai.DEit. 497 

Might rede aright to us your dark decrees, 

Whereof we pay infraction with the blood 

Of ignorance ! If any daily voice, 

Were it no larger than this grasshopper's, 

In our own tongue could only say to us 

" Well done, well done, thy feet are in the way, 

This path beyond the darkness is the same ; 

Thou hast not walked in dreams, nor in thy sleep 

Hath any passing mischief carried thee 

Far from the roads of morning ! Nought is lost. 

That which thou sawest thou sawest, what thine ear 

Heard hath been spoken ; thou art not yet false ; 

This that thou callest good is good : go on. 

It shall be well with thee in all the worlds ! " 

But now am I as one blindfold and bound. 

Who, 'mid a sounding pageant, pressed and 

thronged 
With tramp of steeds and shout of changed event 
Roar of innumerable multitude 
And banners' proud advance and clang of horns 
Dying the gaudy air with hot acclaim, 
And flux and reflux of resistless tide. 
Doth take from side to side with helpless face 
Blind buflet of the surging turbulence 
And strong bewilderment, and feels his blood 
Down-dropping, and his wounds ; but heedeth more 
The wonder of his heart, and moans and moans, 
" Alas that I could see ! " 

" I V " who am I ? 
Whence? How? Why? Whither? 

This old world that stands 
Before me day and night, Avhat ? wherefore ? 

Down 
Thou pompous and intolerable ruin ! 
I weary of thee ! Thou art out of knowledge 5 
Thy centuries untold ; thy Builders where ? 
Thy fashion lost ; thy substance without name ; 
The very need that thou didst satisfy 
Forgot. Why cumberest thou the fields of air, 
32 



498 BALDEIi. 

Incantada ? 

The cardinal intent, 
The regnant virtue, final element, 
And master good, the better truth of all, 
Which on its ordered arms upbears these shows 
As leaves upon a tree ; that which beheld 
Infers the necessary universe 
As substance shadow; and being known indeed. 
Is the old iVuit which, eaten, maketh gods. 
Who shall discover and therein first find 
Himself and all his race ? There is some truth 
Unknown, whose very footsteps are more bright 
Than any visible face, and on whose track 
Unlooked for the glad heart in loud surprise 
Doth open like a hound. Sometimes I pass 
Plain after plain of many-trodden life, 
And never cross it ; and anon when Hope 
Grown careless hath unleashed his pursuivants 
And all the long invariable way 
Stretches in lifeless waste — my dazzled eyes 
And the long trail of light ! This panting heart 
Racing pursuit where as she runs the run 
Gives strength to run and warm and warmer air 
Leads on the nose of capture, mad to win 
O'ertakes the brightening leagues ; then all at 

fault 
Stands fixed and bays the sky. As one should 

trace 
An angel to the hill wherefrom he rose 
To Heaven, and on whose top the vacant steps 
In march progressive with no backward print 
A-sudden cease. Sometimes, being swift, I meet 
His falling mantle torn off" in the wind 
Of great ascent, whereof the attalic pomp 
Between mine eyes and him perchance conceals 
The bare celestial. Whose still happier speed 
Shall look up to him while the blindmg toy 
In far perspective is but as a plume 
Dropped from the eagle V Whose talarian feet 



BALDER. 499 

Shall stand unshod before him while he spreads 

His pinions ? Who shall take him by the hand ? 

I have tried all Philosophies ; I know 

The height and depth of science ; I have dug 

The embalmed Truth of Karnak and have sailed 

Tigris and Ganges to the sacred source 

Of eastern wisdom; I have lived a life 

Of noble means to noble ends ; and here 

I turn to the four winds, and say " In vain, 

In vain, in vain, in vain !" 

The end is come. 
I stand upon the Babel I have built, 
I have surpassed the mountains, the great globe 
Lies inexhaustible below, my days 
Are still before me ; these unconquered limbs 
Invulnerable hang by my strong side 
Brawny with toil ; but 1 have worked my last. 
I cannot lift these arms. 1 have attained 
The furthest realm aerial where the air 
Is gross enough to breathe, and Nature's self 
Refuses to o'erbuild the vital bound 
And lift me into death. I lay me down 
Upon my life-lotig work the wretchedest man 
That ever fought and lost. What I have done 
No more being done is vain, and more being done 
Unsouls the bulk that went before, and rears 
A pyramid to hold into the sun 
The offence of my mortality. My pride 
Hath climbed till I can hardly see the earth 
Beneath me, and from that last possible height 
Look up with fainting eyeballs to behold 
A heaven no whit more near. Is there no help ? 

[A pause. 
O Thou Invisible, whoe'er thou art, 
Who with sufficient presence and plenary touch 
Extensive, whether in the unfathomed east 
And west or in the terrible extremes 
Beyond the pole star and the southern cross 
They mark the immeasurable round of heaven, 



500 BALDHK. 

At once distendest with coequal life 

The order'd spheres ; either withdraw thyself 

From the serene and golden harmony 

Of that inspired matter overhead- 

Which circleth irrespective day and night 

In heedless welfare ; either give up realms 

That once were Chaos to the mortal shock 

Of the last anarchy ; let maddened day 

Scorch hope to ashes, and the flaming night 

Aifright us till the yell of our despair 

Rise in the howling regions ; be exhaled 

O Power, let me behold that sudden stars 

Meet in omnipotent havoc that results 

To utter space and ebbs and flows and ebbs 

In vast conflux and infinite recoil 

Systole and diastole, till lo ! 

A universe that like our mortal lot 

Panteth to death, and in the hopeless sight 

We leap to final flames ; or now at last 

Unveil Thyself and save us ! Come forth strong 

To judgment ! Justify the shows of things, 

And heal her and this world ! 



SCENE XXXI. 

The Study. Balder at his table in act to lorite. Through 
the door the voice of A>iY. As she sings he rises and 
rushes from the room. 

Amy. That I might die and be at rest O God ! 
That I might die and sleep the sleep of peace ! 
That I might die and know the balm of death 
Cool thro' my limbs and all my silenced heart ! 
O God, that I might die ! that I might die ! 

Death, Death, wilt thou not take me ? should I bring 
Disquiet to thy kingdom ? Yesterday 
Was pain, and had a yesterday of pain 



BALDEK. 501 

Whereto It was to-morrow ; and pain, pain 
This dark to-day, to-morrow's yesterday 
And yesterday's to-morrow ; then why not 
To-morrow ? and why less because with thee ? 

I know the wanderer in the desei't heat 
When the well faileth and the cruise is spent 
Sees with his eyes his great necessity 
And hears the murmur of his strong desire 
And speeds — to drearer wastes and deadlier sand. 
If I am he, O Death, and thou my Thought 
Hast lain so long before me cool and sweet 
And art the mirage of a wretched heart ! 

In what fair shape hast thou beguiled me not ? 
O Death in all this vision of the world 
What have I seen, Betrayer, if not thee ? 

Sometimes I climb, and thou upon the height 

My mother waiting for her weary child 

With outstretched circling arms and bosom bare ! 

Or I am falling in a draw-well deep 

Red round with infinite depth of hateful eyes 

And night-mare mocking faces, and below 

Thou liest like a smile of love and peace. 

Sometimes I am a maimed captive, bound 

To the swift chariot of the pitiless sun, 

And thou art night that dost unloose my chain ! 

Or I a pilgrim at the gate of heaven. 

Torn with the thorniest way, and thou O Death 

A virgin angel met upon the verge, 

And pitiful thou dost divesture me 

And there of all my tattered earthly weeds 

Spreadest a bed where I may sleep my last 

Nor enter weary on the happy land. 

Or I a floating vapour, white and wan, 
Casting a shade and shedding doleful dews, 



502 BALDEK. 

And thou a sunshine from a sun unseen 
Dost touch me, passing, to a rarer change. 
I float and sadden not the summer air 
Nor shed a doleful dew nor cast a shade. 

Or I am sailing on an ocean wild 

And o'er the bark I bend me, fain to die, 

And hopeless look into the sea ; and eyes 

Shine up like drowned jewels from the depths, 

And somewhat riseth in the deep to me. 

And in the waters a familiar face 

And a hand waving to the mermaid-cells. 

Touch me, O Death ! This moment let me sleep ! 

I can do all, O Death, but doubt in thee. 

Touch me, O Death, lest I be wild with fear ! 

Aye, now thou art again as thou hast been. 

Stay with me ; lay thine hand upon my brow, 

Cool, cool ; bend o'er me ; let thy shadowy hair 

Shut out the distance from my aching eyes. 

Stand between me and the unsetting sun ; 

Console the frailty of my feeble limbs 

And task me with a burden I can bear ! 

I fling me on the shore ; I cannot try 

The ocean of interminable life. 

Hush me, and sing me to a better mind. 

A little rest, a little rest, O Death, 

Ere the great labour of the world to come 1 



SCENE XXXII. 

The Study. Balder sits at the table turning the leaves 
of a MS. 

Page after page ! from earliest light of dawn 
To the first evening star, and still in vain! 
The eye indeed perceives, but the shut soul 
Hath no reception. As in a great house 
Upon a day of mourning when the lord 



BALDER. 503 

Pines in his closet, and the eager crowds 

Fill the contentious vestibule and keep 

Jostling attendance, what the sense admits 

Stands in the outer precincts of my head 

But gains not me. Nay, thro' dull walls I hear 

The intolerable murmur, and go back 

To darker depths. If these ears would forget ! 

These eyes contain their uses in the straits 

Of function, and the strong impediment 

Of wood and stone ! A httle rest ! An hour's 

Oblivion ! Six days have I sat as now. 

In the same chamber, at the well known place, 

In the same chair, before the wonted table. 

With the same pen dipped in the selfsame horn, 

The altar laid as when the god came down, 

And every duteous rite of sacrifice 

But not the fire from heaven ! You pitying gods, 

I am content to suffer ; as ye will 

Work all your pleasure on me ; but I pray, 

Having so far advanced my monument, 

Let me not die unhonoured. I ask not 

Space for the dearest business of life ; 

But if we are to die unloose these limbs 

A little season, grant but vvhat reprieve 

May place the final stone which shall surmount 

Our ashes, and these votive hands shall shed 

The blood ye long to taste ! these mindful arms 

Embrace your vengeance ! [^Pauses. 

If ye ever heard. 
Save what is left of me ! Ye will lose nought ; 
I shall die nobler game. Hack me to earth 
By this slow baiting and the inglorious wounds 
Will mortify, and I that might have roared 
At bay upon your foremost, and, upreared 
Like a wild desperate Lion, have made sport 
For your divinest prowess, may turn tail 
And trail my hinder death along the ground 
Of craven faint retreat. Now ! now ! ye swift 
And interposing powers ! the cry ! the cry ! 

[Amy is heard through the door. 



504 HALDEK. 

Amy. Blind, blind I stand and dare not stir for' 
fear. 
Blind, blind I turn my face up to the sky. 
I have no hope to hide my bruised face 
Which 'evermore a strong hand in the air 
Smites with a burning rod and will not rest. 



SCENE XXXIIL 

The Study. Balder, solus. Through the half open door 
is heard the voice of Amy. 

[ He rises and shuts the door. 
Balder. In vain ! There is but one wall upon 
earth 
Thou canst not pass : One door that being closed 
Is closed on thee ; one refuge where even thou 
Art silent. If 1 hide myself in deeps 
Of lonely woods the murmuring trees take up 
Thine argument ; if in the further wilds 
Of the waste hills, my heart is full of tongues 
And each to either in untiring round 
They tell thy story. She of old who fled 
Before the humming fly, and coursed the world 
Uncomforted, wild with the ceaseless sound 
Susurrent, was in better case than I 
Who have no hope of change, and with swift flight 
Should bear as swift a woe. I am impaled 
Here where I stand ; my hurt, alas, not mortal, 
But touching at the very hinge and crank 
The springs of action and the palsied limbs 
Of staring struck desire. 'T is hard, 't is hard, 
To lie upon this earthly battle-field 
Among the sick and helpless in the rear 
And see the strife and the eternal prize 
Borne off by other hands, and hear the trump 
And all the victory which thou canst not share. 
But nature smooths the pillow that she spreads. 
The fevered hand is wearv of the sword, 



KALDEK. 505 

The fallen warrior's eye hath lost its fire, 
His voice its thunder; his unstanched wound 
Hath bled ambition, and the sick man's pap 
Is not the bait of war. 

Ask what he feels 
Who with the pulse of promise and the limbs 
Of young performance and the lusts of youth 
Swelling and flushing on unconquered brows 
And favouring heavens above him and great signs 
In the consenting earth, mounts to his dear 
And proud intent, and hears already rise 
The shout of conquest, and, in grasp of all. 
Yea in the triumph of his measured strength — 
That leans over accomplishment to close 
With forward acquisition, — stops stone still, 
Spell-bound. And spell-bound locked and mo- 
tionless, 
With unseen prowess of inglorious war, 
Hid in his silent body strives with fate 
And spends his might within. (As one doth grind 
The set teeth down, and in his clenched palm ' 
Break his own bones, and cram his charged veins 
To bursting, string each muscle till it crack. 
Hold but a little breath with will enough 
To bind the winds of Heaven, and stay a hand 
With force that could arrest the headlong world, 
And no man knows it. He thro' starting eyes 
Sees all that should be his, and, like a fierce 
And hungry mastiff held back by a chain 
In the full scent and sight of his near prey. 
And strong to seize, that gasps and claws the ground 
And wears his bloody talons to the bone 
With unrelaxed endeavour, he beholds 
While the auspicious light goes down the sky 
And high in Heaven the awful omens cliange, 
And 'mid the murmurs of Impatient earth 
He stands for ever straining to the breach 
Of still denied occasion. 

My keen ears 
Heard each careering star that rounds the sky, 



506 BALDER. 

And knew them by their sounds. But now to list 
In vain, nor know if the great march of worlds 
Stand still ! When life was sweet I would have 

died 
That men might happier live ; when hard existence 
Toiled thro' its sweats of blood, I would have lived 
That men might nobler die ; but now alike 
To live unfruitful and to die unblest I 
Heavens ! that the creak of passing wain should 

hide 
The voice that drowns the rolling universe ! 
That thou, despite of me, canst fill the world, 
And no more pressure of this hand than holds 
A bundle of unbruised buttercups 
Could still thee ! That the bannered host of man 
Under my leading starts on its white way 
Down the rejoicing ages, and thou, Amy, 
Canst take the car of glory by the wheel 
And stop it; with a single touch arrest 
That wondrous winged horse whereon I rode, 
And throw mankind in me. 



SCENE XXXIV. 

A field near the Tower. Balder, solus. 

Oh God ! to how great office was I born, 
To how proud exaltation came I in 
Unquestioned as one comes unto his own. 
For nor was it forbidden me to hold 
The pen of sovereign Nature when she bent 
To send her message to the sons of men. 
Nor, — being her Scribe, and finding in her eyes 
Maternal favour — undismissed to sit 
At her dread feet, while her much-musing Voice 
Like muffled thunders of a storm unburst 
Did murmur to her heart. Nor she disdained 
In royal leisure to remember me ; 
Keeping her eyes upon the wilderness 



JiALDEU. 507 

In mercy, and dividing to my sen^e 

The o'er-great burden of her gaze and speech. 

And I being asked, made answer, having grace 

To speak. Nor unto me was it denied 

To hear responsive secrets from her lips. 

Nor to behold her undestroyed what time 

She held her court and all the subject Powers 

Of the obedient Universe appeared 

To hear her bidding, and to each her hand 

Dispensed his several task. Nor unto me 

Wholly inhibited, nor by these orbs 

In this dark day forgot, the blinding sight 

Of that all incommunicable hour 

And extasy when she who wears the stars 

Sitting alone amid Infinitude 

Nor seeing from her all-surveying throne 

Sovereign or peer, doth veil her awful head 

And own a Master. 

Naked from the womb 
She took me, and she clothed me round about, 
Nor have I other garment than the robe 
She gave ; wherefore I, driven forth and disowned, 
Displaced, dishonoured, cut off once for all, 
Outcast and unauthentic, by my weeds 
Still seem her servant. All that seek her grace 
Salute me, and my hands are full of bribes. 
They whom she loves are free to me in speech 
No longer mine, and uncommanded slaves 
Contend to do me service. Hereabout 
I am confessor to a thousand flowers 
And wheresoe'er I stand some one begins 
Her unsought confidence : each several Oak 
Standing above me, hoarse with waving arms, 
Makes me companion of his difficult strength 
As Cromwell spake to Milton. 

From what state 
Am I cast down ! Where shall I rest who lay 
In the hid core of silence and did sleep 
Cradled in central calm ? In what world find 
? Under what less potentate 



508 HALDEK. 

A new alleojiance ? Beneath what dark Heavens 
A worship ? From Avhat spot of lower spheres, 
A Universe ? In Heaven, Hell, Earth, or Air, 
Aught that can satisfy a heart which once 
Beat in the very breast and vital seat 
Of all things, and being forced to the extremes. 
Resents the unblest deformity and hath 
No function of a heart ? 

Oh Queen, oh Mother 
Take take me back ! 

I that ne'er wept before ! 
Thou seest ! 

Silent ? Silent and these tears ! 
Nay this is to outrun the Destinies. 
True I am fallen indeed, but not yet dead ! 
Dead ? How if dead not fallen ? And perhaps 
From the high place I filled no more removed 
Than that her mournful and imperial hands 
Might urn me in a star ? And as one bears 
A heavy sleeper with fast closed lids 
Whose dreams like shadows of the truth repeat 
The outer perils darkly, in this sleep 
I have had visions ? Hence wild phantasy ! 
I live ! 

Hast thou forgotten me ? This brow 
These limbs that at thy feet thou hast so oft 
Looked down upon in love that I have seen 
The spheres grow pale missing their wonted light, 
How are they less than then V A friend — a foe — 
The beneficial difference of the sword 
Is in the using ! Something I have done, 
Something may do. Chaos hath still his standard. 
Speak, or I join it ! lead the dark attack 
By the most secret way ; betray thy counsels ; 
Make thy hid thoughts the common sport o' the air, 
Map thy designed war, and thine arch-foe 
Forearm with master-spells. 

Aye silence, silence- 
Why not ? How should I move thee, O sublime 
Invulnerable ? Though I not behold 



IJALDEK. 509 

Thy countenance, I know that If the smile 
Dimmed on thy lips, or round thy brow serene 
Tempered the gracious summer, these whose sight 
Attains thy face had drooped their sudden heads 
With hopeless frost. 

But is it wise in thee 
With this imperial scorn to rouse an arm 
Which once was worth thine honour ? To send 

forth 
Wrath which was once thine angel ? And unloose 
A tongue which learned its language on thy breast 
Amid the nursling thunders ? Thou art there 
And shalt be ; nor can I aspire to shake 
Thy throne. But this terrestrial sovereignty, 
This sublunary verge and late domain 
Of empire, who shall save it ? Speak to me ! 
Or by a conscript hell — [Pauses. 

In vain, in vain ! 
Smile on ! I see it all. Thou hast ta'en thought 
Of this defection. What I lift is not 
The hand that moved the heavens. Thy pride 

hath snapped 
The weapon it disused. The self-same touch 
Put me at once from duty and disservice, 
And dwarfed me from my native healthful height 
Below obnoxious stature. 

Shall I look 
Into the wayside pool to see my face. 
And shall a water-beetle blot it out ? 
I could believe no less. Poor mannikin. 
Prate as thou list — pray, sing, preach, rave, despair, 
Square to the sun, defy the stars ! Thou art free ! 
Royally done ! I am too mean a thing 
To have mine anger reckoned. This weak arm 
Is warrant for desertion ; this cold heart 
May throb for whom it list ; this scrannel voice 
Pipe here or there unchallenged. Everywhere 
Misfortune hath the privilege of treason 
And impotence prescription to rebel ! 



510 BALDER. 

Once it had not been thus; no, nor couldst thou, 
Oh Unapproachable Serenity, 
Have heard me all unmoved. 

But now sit calm. 
Wert thou the merest maid that ever lay 
Well-portioned and well-pleased before her glass 
Braiding her locks and shining thro' her curls 
Upon the kneeling lover at her feet 
Enough refusal, insolent and vain, 
Round her most dainty finger slow and cold 
With equal touch and languid cruelty 
TAvining his heart-strings and her golden hair, 
I could not harm thee. 

I, who from thine height 
Beheld, and, — since we claim for corporal self 
Whatever bears the living head wherefrom 
The soul looks out — I that saw down from thence 
To the far footing of the solid dark 
My starry stature ; I who with stern eye 
Did gaze into the opening infinite, 
And on the scale of that perspective scan 
This measured earth ; I who would equal space, 
And as a thing apart in outer courts 
Contain creation ; I am even contract 
To the dimensions of some elfin world. 
This checquered field shall be my vast expanse ; 
Yon tree Igdrasil ; any passing cloud 
In golden distance o'er my sinking head 
Shall arch sufiicient Heaven ; the nightly Moon 
Toil the horizon of a fairy ring 
As once I led her the majestic march 
Of this great globe, and in impatient power 
])anced round her steps as David round the Ark, 
And wheeling i:to utter depths returned 
About her languid motion. Day by day 
Shall bring my grain of wheat and drop of dew 
Content ; and I shall see the rising Sun 
Above the Mole-heaps as I saw him once 
Above the hills of God ! 



511 



SCENE XXXV, 

The Study. Balder, solus. 

Balder. I could believe I heard myself grow thin, 
The slack and empty sail cling close and dry 
Upon the cordage masts and stays of life, 
My bare unmuffled bones collapse and clank 
And what was round and cheerful in this body 
Fall out of observation. 

Let it fall, 
It has survived my use — this goodly space 
And palace of the flesh which hall by hall 
I have given up, retreating from a voice 
Without, till, more than housed in the strait bounds 
Of its most secret cell, I find at last 
How little it bested me. 

I that laid 
My hand upon this breast and deemed I throbbed 
Beneath ; who held my unity of powers 
In such most sweet conversion that it seemed 
Love was essential in the tranquil soul 
And wisdom cordial in the beating heart. 
Where am I ? Did the echoes of the house 
Deceive me, and the murmur of the shell ? 
My soul hath gone back like a sea on heaps 
Before a Prophet's rod ; leaving that bare 
Which never saw the light — the gulphs and deeps 
And all the infand unknown which since the first 
It covered but was not. And I sit here 
Within my passions; and that writhing round 
Of rooted serpents rises like a ring 
Of licking flames about me. Some are dead 
And others gnaw them. Of the living, some 
Lie lank as worms ; some roar as dragons ; all 
Enjoy or suffer ; and I see unmoved 
How each fulfils his office ; coils and glides, 
Plays as when Eve stood smiling, warms, desires, 



512 BALDER. 

Swells, springs, tails, maddens, struggles, twists, and 

dies, 
Strangled in its own knots. I see them, — mine 
Not me ; myself in the hot midst, a cold 
Calm lidless eye that neither hopes nor fears 
Nor loves nor hates nor smiles nor weeps nor praj'S. 
It cannot last. I am a living man, 
Not an anatomy for time and change 
To scalpel when they teach the younger gods 
And show them subject man. You heavens, what 

right 
Makes me the bleeding instance ? Why am I 
The Paragon of woes '? How dare they seize 
These organs to discuss the novel signs 
Of unaccustomed torture ? Must I bear 
That they may be instructed ; with keen edge 
Distinguish what is mortal from the threads 
Of inconclusive anguish, and in slow 
Discovery one by one dissect away 
The stamens of endurance, with fine point 
Experimental and touch exquisite 
Detect of each rare core the central sense, 
Open the vesture of the secret nerve, 
Make bare the naked torment and lay out 
The warm and quivering Nature styled and strung 
For vital exposition ? Malefactors, 
Who in the last resource of desperate hope 
Yield up their breathing bodies to the schools, 
Die under such division. Human hate 
On choicest victim of her direst hour 
Hath not accomplished it ; the subtlest pains 
Of her most fell invention cannot pass 
That Lethe through which pitying Powers convey 
The wretch tor whose worst crime in their just eyes 
'T is more than expiation to be aim 
Of such unheard-of purpose. Hell itself 
Hath no such agony ; the very Damned 
Are plunged in whole. 



BALDER. 513 

SCENE XXXVI. 
A hill near the Tower. Baldek, solus. 

Balder. Like a sailing eagle old 

Which with unwavering wings outspread and wide 
Makes calm horizons in the slumbrous air 
Of cloudless noon and fills the silent heaven 
AVith the slow circulation of a course 
More placid than repose, this shining still 
And universal day revolves serene 
Around me, hasting not and uncompelled. 
But the tumultuous thought within my head 
Is a poor captive beast, that to and fro, 
Wild in the trepidation of mad pain 
Beats its red bars in blood. Gods ! how it cHmbs 
This throbbing dungeon, leaps and falls and leaps 
In strong attempt, and strains a battered face 
Against the narrow outlets, gnaws the holds 
Of iron and shakes loud with desperate will 
The adamantine doors. What ! have I caged 
A leopard in my pleasure-house V Am I 
A doomed city ? are these halls a roost 
For owls and dragons ? Shall the bittern cry 
Out of the stagnant courses of my heart 
And the fox litter in her palaces ? 
My seat wherein I sat is overturned. 
My images are broken and cast down, 
My set and sacred places are defiled, 
My fair adorned walls dismantled all 
And all the tattered tapestries of life 
Rent on the floors of Ruin ! 

I do not rage 
Nor rave ; but I ask you oh ye blue heavens, 
What have I done ? 

I do remember me 
That on a cottage threshold once I saw 
An idiot child. His blue orbs in his brow 
Were as when some round rosy cloud of morn 
33 



ol'k UALDKH. 

Opens deep azure eyes and Ave see thro' 

To heaven. On his cahn countenance there lay 

A lazy day of" self-sufficing hours, 

And all the changes in his face were made 

By the soft feet of pleasure slow and fair. 

Is there a soul behind you ? There was none 

In him. He was born deaf and dumb and blind 

And foolish. But he was as bright as you. 



SCENE XXXVII. 
A Glen amcmy the Hills near the Tmoei'. Balder, solus. 

Balder. I will return. 
Sitting down here this morn I turned my back 
Upon the sun, and now he sees my face. 
Waste hours — where all are waste ! A round of sand 
Built in the endless sands with walls of sand. 
That the red Tartarean world I feel 
Within me hath reality without 
Amid the discord of my soul I yet 
Can make denial heard. And as a man 
With whose disloyal organs ruthless Fever 
Hath tampered till some play him false and all 
Are treasonable, touching one by one 
His harlequin environment constrains 
Protean shapes to stand and give response, 
And of attested qualities constructs 
A synthesis more sure than the sick eye, 
I, whom nor morning gladdens nor meek eve 
Consoles, do know my desperate malady 
And testify that fruitless eve and morn 
Have both done well. I will not be deceived, 
And so my day becomes a manifold 
And drear induction that sets Truth from Truth, 
As the blind hesitating sire of old 
.Jacob from Esau ; and with tender strength 
Of one who going must divide fond arms 
Enfolding, and unravel with stern love 



BALDEK. 515 

Soft intertwining fingers of dear hands 

That clasp him, doth unlock the enfoundered hulls 

And spars of the strange worlds 1 see and feel, 

And bid them pass as twain. liere where 1 sit 

The sun must needs be sweet, — the bees sing in it, 

And yon large fly — a hawk among his kind — 

Still in the very level of mine eye 

Keeps on the wing, with shining long delay 

Or sudden flash of capture. 

On the bank 
The nodding moor-hen lands to preen her quills. 
The trout hath left the alders of the pool 
And basks. Her beak the brooding king-fisher 
Shows, breathless, at her callow hole above 
The brook ; within the eddies of the brook 
The water-mouse dissolves and re-appears ; 
Therefore 't is halycon weather. 

[He rises and ivalks homeward. 
The small flock 
That lay but now, fleece upon panting fleece, 
About the knees of yonder aged oak — 
Their lusty lord upon a gnarled root 
High in the cooler midst — descend and fill 
The lengthening shade. The weed that shuts at noon 
Is closer than a sleeping infant's lid ; 
And the pale evening rose hath not yet set 
Her chalice for the dews ; therefore it is 
That heavy hour of silent afternoon 
When even grief can slumber and forget. 
For me I know no seasons, nor will trust 
The tale of the extravagant heart that tells 
Between the orient and the setting sun 
A year of days, and calls the outer world 
Chaos let loose. [Entei's the Garden. 

This green turf nicely fine 
A fairy host marshals its serried spears 
Innumerable, and of all not one 
Hath turned an edge ; a human conflict here 
Had trodden it as o'er oul- helmed heads 
The wrestling gods contending trample down 



516 BALDER. 

A field of legions. Up the new spread walk 
Well-trimmed, my morning footsteps where I 

came, — 
Eight hours since by the dial, — still remain ; 
None other near them : therefore I have been 
Alone, and as I walk I print a like 
And solitary record, therefore now 
I am alone. 

If I went forth at morn 
Thro' a well-tilled soft garden, and came back 
This very hour to find it trodden hard. 
Stamped to a summer floor, and all my home 
Threshed out upon it, flying here and there. 
Chaff on the wind, 't were less incredible 
Than this approven solitude. 

Across 
My doorway I perceive the gossamer 
Drew silver bars behind me. They have lost 
The immaterial beauty of the morn, 
When passing on the gleaming wind they seem 
Rather effect than cause, the cutting sheen 
Of somewhat on the eye too swift for sight. 
Or hung across the early way appear 
A shining prohibition in the air 
No more. But these are stiflf as rods of glass. 
And flat with drought. Therefore, since I went forth, 
None hath gone in or out. 

This looks like peace, 
And I must needs believe it. [Enters a room. 

How the motes 
In idle sunshine slowly circulate, 
A little heaven of worlds as calm and sweet 
As any stars above us. Eh ! my breath 
Sucks gulphs beneath the golden equipoise 
And sets a viewless tide that bears away 
Systems and suns. Thou great astronomer, 
Perplexed by some new motion, Who on high 
Beyond thy telescopic organ stands 
• Breathing ? 

A wood wren ! and the open lattice 



BALDER. 517 

He passes deftly with familiar wing. 
No chance intruder, or the crystal panes 
Had toiled him, and my first step at the door 
Had been his fearful signal ! Is the day 
Such and so comparably native here 
That even the tenants of the silent wood 
Deem it their own possession ? Peace — 

[Enters an inner room. 
Asleep ! 
Her pallid head upon her hand, and all 
The blighted harvest of her locks unsheaved 
Upon her pillow ; whence a single iiair 
Hangs its sweet tendril and by duest time 
Still kept to the fair rise and shadowy fall 
Of her white breast denotes how undisturbed 
The obedient air about her ! To my cheek 
'T is hot and angered as Avith glare of fire ! 
But the Mimosa by her doth not fade ; 
Some dew is on the blossoms that she wears, 
Plucked, doubtless, in the shadow of the dell ; — 
And I observe yon frail-winged butterfly 
Which fluttered through the eastern casement cool 
With freshest odours — and whose fairy fans 
Had shrivelled in a heat which cherishes 
This human flesh — doth palpitate unharmed 
Mid through the glow that scorched me. 

Inch by inch 
Adjusting every witness of the soul 
By such external warrants, I do reach 
Herself, the centre and untaken core 
Of this enchanted Castle Avhose far lines 
And strong circumvallations in and in 
Concentring I have carried, but found not 
The foe that makes them deadly ; and I stand 
Before' these most fair walls and know he lies 
Contained, and in the wont of savage war 
Prowl round my scatheless enemy and plot 
Where, at what time, with what consummate blow 
To storm his last retreat and sack the sense 
That dens her fierce malease. 



518 liALBF.R. 

I am as one 
Who hearing music thro* the dark doth press 
Straight towards the sound and comes upon a tower, 
And feels along the impediment whereby 
To pass it ; and the walls still put him back 
And the contained voice still calls and he 
Still pressing to the sound still journeyeth round 
His hid desire ; and now by ear led on 
Draws nigh, — and now, when close pursuit should 

break 
The skin of fleshed enjoyment, hears the voice 
I'ainter and fainter from the further cell. 
And so unconscious treads a beaten ring 
Following that moony voice that wanes and fills 
And wanes, and at the worst again is new. 
Till at the last, instructed by defeat, 
Step by slow step he measures round the wall 
The crescent sound, and at one loudest spot 
Of proximate possession lays his siege, 
And with his straining strength and bruised hands 
Would force the unyielding Stone ! 

Thus have I tracked 
That still unseen disturber of my days 
Who in this holy sanctuary hath made 
His sacrilegious dwelling ; yea could lay 
A finger on the small fair space that hides 
Within such alabaster and most pure 
Sarcophagus the cancerous atomy 
Which with its black disease, as with a stench, 
Infects this gracious world. From the wide air 
Thro' the freed earth and up the very stairs 
Of home, entrenched against me, hold by hold. 
Implacable with steady overthrow 
Of hounding hate incessant I dislodge him. 
And here before a scale of living bone 
Come to my final stop ! and though my arms 
Can hem him in, and his unforced place 
To these avenging and swift hands be near 
As their own marrow, know him here at last 
Impregnable. Heavens ! that the very knife 



BALDER. 519 

Which doth uproot a weed would cut more deep 
Than should eradicate from the restored 
Sweet universe that thread of bitterness 
Which feeds the mighty shade that poisons all ! 
That with one little stroke I could cut out 
This oecumenical and central wrong, 
And dare not do it ! With no stronger us 
Of no more muscles than would rend this hair 
This little hair — I could end once for all 
That sole accursed evil which hath been 
My Master ! That the mortal chase hath brought 
Mine enemy to ground, and he lies here 
As far off from my just revenge as in 
The farthest of the stars ! 



SCENE XXXVIII. 
The Hill-side. Enter Baldkr. 

Balder. Was this world built for happiness, that 

man 
In all his agonies since pain began 
Hath, as of intuition, changed its use 
And customary order ; made the Night 
A banquet-hail for his cold feast of Death, 
And Day his weary chamber ? Or was 't wrought 
In equal seasons, that the separate walls 
Of twain but neighbouring mansions might contain 
The happy and the wretched ? 

I that walked 
All this long night upon the bare hill-top 
Grow heavy in the sunshine and would sleep. 

[/7e lies clown and sleejjs — after a while starts iip. 
This dream ! why I came leaping out of it 
Half-witted and half-dead as one escapes 
From dungeons into air. I must have wept, too, 
The grass below my face is all bedewed, — 
Away ! 

[ Turns and sleeps — Leaps up with disordered looks. 



520 BALDEK. 

No, no, it cannot be, it must not be, 
It shall not be ! — Amy ! — 

{Looking tq), his eye catches the clouds. 
You white full heavens ! 
You crowded heavens that mine eyes left but now 
Shining and void and azure ! — 

Ah ! ah ! ah ! 
Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! 
By Satan ! this is well. What ! am I judged ? 
You ponderous and slow-moving ministers, 
Are you already met ? Are crimes begot 
Above ? And do Ave sin to give the train 
And hungry following of the stately gods 
An office ? Doth their pastime tarry there 
Because I lag ? Is it to be endured 
That Avhile I sleep the ready forum forms 
About me, and the conscript fathers wait 
The unaccomplished wrong ? Hence ! clear the 

heavens ! 
Break up ! What ! can I not so much as dream 
But your substantial thunders must surround 
The ghostly fault, and with material towers 
And bodily environment hem in 
The thin unflesh'd commission ? Do you close 
Upon me like a weary prey run down. 
Stalked to the final onset ? But I live ! 
Will you sit at the board while the meal walks ? 
How if you are too soon ? Who sees the g-ame ? 
Look down upon us here — which is your man ? 
What have I done ? My hands are white — be- 
hold ! 
You solemn imperturbable o'er-high 
All-seeing and prededicate avengers. 
For once ye sit in vain ! My will is not 
Yours ; nor shall any terrors of j'our loud 
Discomfiture, nor any warning sign — 
No, tho' the rocked right half of heaven rolled o'er 
And stood at heaps oa the sinister side — 
Unplant my fixed resolve. Mine eyes do pierce 
The lower ostentations of your brief 



521 



And temporary royalty to reach 
A Paramount Supreme. 



SCENE XXXIX. 
The Study. A icrithig-table, loiih paper and jjens. 

Balder. Yes, I will bear, forbear, hope, labour, 
wait, 
Yet once again. He who from love of day 
Doth end his life in the obscurest hour 
Of long-lived night flies not from aged Nox 
But from unborn Aurora. 'T is the part 
Of wisdom to endure. Whatever clime 
Surround, more fair, this sublunary scene, 
Howe'er we name those undiscovered Powers 
That rule us and do place our Aveal and woe, 
The problem of the wretched is to pass 
Not the set circumscription of his known 
And ordered ill, but the unsearched confines 
Of their supreme disposals. Failing that 
All fails ; and the poor slave for whom extends 
No safe inviolable shore, no last 
Red Stygian frontier where the angry hordes 
Of hurrying hell must needs stand balked and droop 
The unavailing scorpions, — had best bend 
To his worst task, nor heat the blood of swift 
Inevitable vengeance. Once again — 

f Throufjh the open doin\ Amy is heard. 

Amy. If thou art not, O Death, if thou art not, 
I am immortal and not born to die, 
And time hath no dominion over me. 
Is this the secret of my wretched lot, 
Is this the secret of a happy world 
And all the joy of life that glads not me ? 

I think I am immortal ; I do think 
My unrespective being takes to-day 
The further woes of an eternal fate. 



522 TJALDEK. 

In vain the earth is happy, and in vain, 

In vain, a little space above my head 

The dread and over-arching destiny 

Is calm and fair ; I feel from pole to pole, 

Nor know the year that doth devour mine heart ! 

Oh, God ! Thou hast not made me for my lot, 

I faint in prospect of the shoreless sea ! 

I cannot stand under the universe ! 

That it would sink and crush me once for all ! 

That I were broken as a thing defect. 
Wholly rubbed out as of no right to be, 
And as a heedless error of the hand 
Cancelled for ever from the book of life ! 

[After a long silence she is heard (u/ain. 
That I might die and be no more at all, 
That I might cease out of the scheme of things, 
And all my place be filled up evermore ! 

I am galled with my destiny ; that one 
Would take my lot out of my scorched hands, 
And all my heritage in heaven and earth. 
Oh, God, forget me from thy universe, 
Oh, God, I have retired out of my life, 
The functions of my soul are dead, and I 
Am but a burning hope of not to be ! 
Oh, God fulfil me ; I am but this thirst. 
This all-consuming thirst, quench it and me ! 

[After a long silence she is heard again. 
My punishment is more than I can bear. 
Oh, men, oh, living men, oh, passers by, 
No, this was not my sentence, no man yet 
For such a fault hath heard so hard a doom ! 
For a small matter did they shut me in 
Upon the eve of war, and on the morn 
The tower was taken and the jailor fled ! 

My cell is in the dank and hollow ground, 
The ruins fell above it ; no man knows 
Its place ; I am forgotten in my land. 



BALDER. 523 

I lay my hand upon the creeping thing, 

The worm crawls o'er me ; the snail harbours up 

My limbs. I am as dark and all-forgot 

As any stone that never saw the sun 

And is and was and will be in the earth. 

I hear the sound of life above my head, 
The toads leap with it, and the very rock 
Shakes with the overgoing ; but I know 
The fallen ruins lie on heap ; my cry 
Can never struggle to the day ; no man 
Will ever seek me. 

Hist ! they move the stones ! 
Fast, faster ! or I famish ! This was not 
My sentence ! I was not shut in for this ! 
No man could treat me so ! oh, men, oh, men, 
The tower was taken and the jailor fled, — 
Let me out, let me out ! I starve ! I starve ! 

[Listening to this he nses. 
Balder. You great Gods, 

Here like a night-mare do I shake you off! 

{After ajjause. 

Poor child. 

Come hither, perchance I can help thee. Hear me. 

[She comes. 
By all her wrongs, 
Her unrespited Patience, unreleased 
Endeavour, unremembered sighs and tears ; 
By her unheard poor prayers, her unfulfilled 
Long hope, her uncrowned faith, her love unblest. 
Her unallayed incomparable sorrow ; 
By all that hath no worthy place on earth, 
All that hath won no summons from the skies, 
I swear to set her free ! 

Amy {kneeling hefore Mm). To set me free ? 
Am I to be free ? oh to set me free ? 
It cannot be so. Sir, thou knowest not ; 
They have forgotten me where I do lie ; 
The tower was taken and the jailor fled ; 
The ruins fell on heap ; the many stones 



524 BALDER. 

Are o'er me ; no man can come near nor tell 
The under earth is hollow. Oii to help me, 
Oh to come near me, oh to set me free ! 

[She sinks on the floor weeping. 
Balder (jnusmg.) This leprosy 
Of murder being fairly out on me 
Hath lost its worst disease. The dark excess 
That for so many days o'er-Ioaded all 
My swollen veins, strangled each vital service, 
And pressing hard the incommoded soul 
In its unyielding tenement convulsed 
The wholesome work of nature, is expelled. 
The crisis of my malady is past 
And leaves me sane but hideous. I do stand 
Blood-hot from head to heel but cool within. 
Blood-wet and steaming blood from every pore 
Incarnadine, but retching at those mouths 
The red surcharge that killed me. I am calm 
And being calm shall better aim the bolt 
Forged and flung down amid the thunder-rain 
Of Passion. That great rain that did so drown 
The present where it fell that all beyond 
Looked back upon already seems a world 
Before the flood. 

I will even let her forth 
As a poor bird out of a burning cage. 
^Nought in the direst caverns of the dark 
Untried unknown can be less kind to her 
Than I have been. Somewhere, perhaps, in space 
There may be better places than this world ; 
No worse. Yes, I will let thee forth, poor child, 
Aye, tho' the seven times sacred bars be built 
Of the twelve holy jewels, and I break 
The door that will not open ! Amy ! Amy ! 
She sleeps ! What ! hath the very breath of murder 
Such odour of its substance that the air 
About me brings her to a doze like Death ? 
'T is well ! so can I test the untried strength 
That seems invincible. How now — how then ? 

[He bends over her. 



BALDEK. 525 

Now, — these dark tresses that I lift aside 

To see the brow they shade, and, in my hand, 

Having no sensible motion yet do lie 

With something of agreement ; nor as things 

Wholly inert, but lighter than their weight 

With strange and inner help : — then — Nay for if 

The hair grow after death ? I have read so. 

Now a most pallid cheek and leaden lids 

Closed lids still livid with her latest pain ; 

And on the cheek and on the lid two tears. 

Then — but they yi scatter morning flowers upon 

her, 
And if some dew-drops fall upon her face 
They must needs be as these — no lovelier 
No purer, nor less meet to call to mind 
The briny taste of human sorrow. Nora 
A little stirring of the breast — then none. 
Now not so much as drives away the fly 

Upon her bosom — then 

You Gods, 1 curse ye ! 

[After a pause. 
I did not tremble, therefore I can do 't. 
{A very long silence, during ichich she still sleeps at his feet. 

[ Clock strikes. 
Another hour, and thou that sleepest there 
Hast like a rosy Angel that o'erstands 
The pale flat corse that is and is not she. 
Stood in my eyes and tried me. Am I bent 
Grey, weathered, travel-stained ? The hidden truth 
And secret of that strange geography 
We traverse in the journey we call life 
I know not ; but I know that in this hour 
I have inhabited each backward spot 
Left long ago, long past and, by my count, 
Ahnost as far behind as Heaven before. 
Whenever I did take thee by the hand 
With fatal purpose, thou sweet looking up 
Didst lead my ignorant steps and charmed eyes 
To some dear olden scene and moment where 
I could not kill thee. None seemed far and none 



526 BALDEK. 

More near than any other. But I turned 

Upon the bruised body at my feet 

And would not see the phantom. Then it sang. 

And then I heard thee hke a bell i' the air, 

Stirring the silver silence circulate 

About thee into music ; while around 

Dreamy upon the wind the floating past 

Circled thee shining, as stained clouds about 

The watery moon, and all the ancient joy 

Came forth revolving in the coloured void, 

Well-wonted, nor life-weary, but ivith looks 

Terribly sweet, as waiting on thy voice 

And only lacking thee to be again. 

And I am shaken with grief and my black fate 

Shrieks as a night of tempest at my head 

And the dream passes like far village chimes 

Blown on a rushing twilight full of rain. 

I did not tremble ; therefore I can do 't. 

Who if not I ? Poor Dove, poor Dove, I caught thee 

In the eagle's talons and did carry thee 

Up to the heights J dared nearest the sun 

And scorched thee blind ! And shall my pinions fail 

To hurry thee beyond the temperate bound 

Of mortal anguish, or refuse that great 

And consummating mercy-stroke that cleaves 

The last of vital ether and doth end 

Captive and captor in the final blaze 

Ot solar conflagration ! I can do it. 

Whether these mortal Daedalean wings 

Will bear me living to the central pyre, 

The dire event must try. Enough to know 

I shall not die till I have seen thee first 

In safe destruction ; this most exquisite flesh 

These tender filaments will have transpired 

Invisible in incense filling Heaven 

Ere 1 am ashes. 

Oh my Beautiful 
My Beautiful why wert thou ever mine V 
Why didst thou love me V What had I to do 
With thee ? Oh Eve, oh happy happy Eve, 



BALDER. 527 

Why didst thou hear my voice ? Was Paradise 
Too narrow to content tbee ? Paradise 
That if thou wert immortal would have brought 
Some better flower for every sweeter day 
Of thy still blest for-ever ; nor had asked 
More answering care than this — that for the fame 
Of her dear handiwork thou shouldst not bend 
Thy cheek above her blushing rose nor wear 
Her lily in thy breast ! What dost thou here ? 
Have 1 the hand that pencils the white page 
Of snowdrops, or doth hang on the fine ear 
Of each unhurt fair blossom morn by morn 
Its pendulous jewel ; is my manly texture 
Soft as the silken slopes of Venus' thigh, 
That I should touch thee ? Can I give thee food 
Celestial ? or what vital element 
Dissolve in a sweet draught of delicate air 
And serve thee ? Is my home an amber tent 
Of April cloud ? Are my black oaken floors 
Light-paven levels such as spirits walk 
At moon-rise ? Can I take an evening mist 
And dip it in the west and clothe thy limbs 
With gold and purple ? Have I zephyr-winds 
To wait upon thee, and to snood thine hair 
With gossamer? Then wherefore art thou mine? 
That any immortality of pangs 
The damned know not might buy this boon for me 
This only boon — to set thee back again 
In thy first best estate ! to wrench mine heart- 
strings 
From thy life's web and burn them in deep hell ! 
What weary Angel exiled from the skies, 
Her baby at her breast, with failing strength 
Paused at this earth and left thee ? Thou wert not 
Of us and being grown up shouldst have gone 
Back to thine heaven ; or having business here 
It should have been in some excepted task 
Set out and sacred from the common lot. 
Jf there be any still and vesper hour 



528 BAl.DEK. 

More pure than all the dav, thou shouldst have 
been ' '' ;!':%^'S5 

Its tutelar, to lead it in and out, ''7^ 

Versed in the duteous season and each rite -^" 

Of welcome and farewell. This changeful earth " ' 
Should be to thee a garden where we take 
Rare pleasaunce and in happy weather walk 
But do not dwell. Thou shouldst have dwelt afar 
With everlasting Morning, going forth 
With her and from her chaste urn unrebuked 
— Dipping thy sinless hand — shouldst sprinkle 

dews. 
Or at the side of Spring, her handmaiden 
Bearing her violets, what time she comes 
Over the hills descending shouldst have passed 
Into this valley blessing it and me. 
And shouldst have loved me only while the fields 
Were sown, nor pitied me forlorn, nor heard 
My vows, nor faithless to thy Goddess-queen 
Forgot thy better duty, but have gone 
When she went, singing o'er the southern slopes 
Joyous beside her ; turning on the height 
For my sake and in richer violet-beds 
Betraying that thine hand relaxed with thought. 
So thou shouldst still have left me and returned 
With the pervading year, for ever young, 
Till that sad season when thy tearful care 
Found not the old man on the wonted hill 
Nor by the thorn nor the memorial tree ; 
And made a time of strange forget-me-nots 
And melancholy flowers that love the rain 
Setting the fairest banks with saddest blooms 
And by a grassy mound in one deep dell 
Beating thy breast let fall the store of spring, 
So that to other vales the spring came late 
Tarrying for thee. And whenceforth thou being 

given 
To sudden sighs and musings didst not keep 
Thine old un blamed attendance, and no more 



IJAI-DKK. 529 

Didst sow thy flowers with free impartial hand, 
But, sick with fitful fancies, oft delayed 
Oft hasted, till for many hapless years 
Spring lost her fame on earth ; nay had a weird 
And crazy name, because that fall by tall 
Thou still remindful didst steal back alone 
To trim my grave, and ever and anon 
After the snows were white didst visit me 
Being ill at rest ; and lo ! in that strange dell 
Unseasonable thaws and timeless flowers 
And none knew why. 

But I have taken thee 
And in my coarse and savage ignorance 
Put thee to mortal uses. Bent these hands 
Wiiich from some flowery chalice should have fed 
The early bee, to grind the daily bread 
Of household travail, set to vulgar toil 
These tender fingers which were made to unfold 
The plaited wings of butterfly or know 
One violet from another, and this frame 
For which if she had found it anywhere 
Forsaken Nature of herself had wrought 
Peculiar season, left a prey to harsh 
Inclement fortunes, torn by winds of woe. 
Bit by the frosts of poverty and struck 
To the scorched marrow by the burning stroke 
I did not feel. Thou art avenged ! avenged ! 
Oh Amy ! wilt thou go back to thy fields 
Of childhood, and the walls of the old home 
That loved thee V Wilt thou wander late at eve 
When all the west is still and black and pass 
Among the dim trunks of remembered trees 
Like a returning sunset '? Will the flowers 
Be fairer there to-morrow, and grey men 
Look on the year and praise it with the years 
Of youth, and all the village that so long 
Had drooped for thee, like a revived plant 
That drinks by dark a subtle sustenance 
Which no man seeth, lift the sudden head 



530 j'.ALUi;;:. 

That yesterday was low? There- Avilt thou be 
Oread and Naiad, or from many oaks 
Whisper thy secret, wander like a sigh 
Thro' green woods where we wandered, or per- 
suade 
Misfortune from the happy cots we loved, 
Or spread by tranquil Night or genial Day 
Felt but unseen a necessary health 
Within, without, thro' all the charmed place. 
The hearth serener and the happier bed. 
The ways auspicious and the waters safe ? 
No go not there ! The very paths are yet 
Bare with my footsteps. I shall haunt thee still. 
1 have distraught thy world, and thy poor skill 
Can never recompose it. Night by night 
Thou shouldst behold me in the western sky, 
Dyed with thy blood. 'Spring, Summer, Autumn, 

Winter, 
Should be the racking seasons of the day 
I killed thee ; every custom of mankind 
A various form of murder ; aye the knife 
Upon the unoffending cottage board 
Round which the children sit, should rise unheld 
And stab thee to the heart. 

Rather return 
Into this general nature, whereof thou 
Art not so much a part or element 
As the consummate whole in a given space 
More visible, — a ripple of the sea. 
The whole is happy ; sink into the whole. 
I think there is no separate tenement 
— No, though thou wert an angel far in heaven — 
Where thy meek subject soul would dare refuse 
Ingress to mine. Better be re-dissolved. 
Nor have one atom of thine unconstrained 
Free essence so defined as to receive 
The local weight of sorrow, nor a sense 
So fashioned to contain a human thought 
As to remember me ! 



531 



SCENE XL. 

The. Study. Baldek, solus, at the open icindow. 

Balder. Oh you o'er-arching and high heavens 
on whom 
I call, because that as remote from me 
Ye must be good ; that as diverse from me 
Ye must be strong ; that as serene above 
The comprehension of my human sense, 
Ye may be happy ; is it well, you heavens 
That ye look down on such a thing as I ? 

If your innumerous hosts be seraphs crowned. 
Throned, with radiant limbs and upturned eyes 
Reflecting God, — and such, methinks, but now 
I saw at eve ere the great choir was filled 
Taking their thrones expectant of the hour, 
And for the general anthem one by one 
Tuning their harps and shedding dewy tears 
Extatic, — if they sit there to adore. 
And have perpetual function of mere praise, 
Were it not wise, ye heavens, to draw your clouds 
Between us ? I was faithful once as they, 
And mighty as the mightiest who doth sweep 
His golden starry strings, and with the sound 
Lighten these tuneless deeps. If I were God 
They should not see this heart. 



SCENE XLI. 

The Study. Balder, solus, by the icindow. 

Balder. And once since then it hath been night 
and day. 
Before my open eyes the useless sun 



532 r.ALi)i':i:. 

Perfunctory again hath been drawn up 'O 

Over yon east. Why I know not. nor care, • I 
For in my soul the season hatli not changed. ^ 

[^Pauses. 
It must be done. How I have learned so well 
That the dread lesson going to and fro 
On the bare surface of my beaten brain 
Hath trod out its own footsteps. Yet once moreA 
Let me dispose it in the attitude *" 

Of due performance. This most sovereign gift 
Of long sought death should be the last and best 
Of ail our sweet love-tokens, and bestowed 
In the ripe moment and receptive throb 
Of her consent, my hint and cue to be 
Her own entreaty. Good. \_Pauses. 

" That I might die," 
And then I strike. [Pauses. 

— Who struck ? Liar, not I ! 
For in this forehead came the mortal dint 
And stunned me ! Down from my flayed shoulders 

thou 
Intolerable weight that like a beast 
Hast dropped on me out of the mystery 
And blackest umbrage. I have enough to bear, 
I hurl thee oif — aye, tho' thou clawest my life 
And roUest into Hell. I have not sinned ! 
It is no sin ! Did she not beg for death V 
Is it not blessed to give ? And if the gift 
Bankrupt the giver — how ? You heavens, if I 
Am merely poor that she who gave her mite 
Was Croesus' vv^idow ! 

Did she not pray too ? 
Have I not heard her at midnight and noon ? 
And she was righteous, and her righteous prayer 
Must needs avail : w^hat is to come must come. 
Whether by thunder-bolt, or secret touch 
Of plague, or undetermining event 
Of irrespective hap, or by the hand 
Of love, how guiltier ? Beast, I have not sinned ! 



BALDEH. 533 

Off! — Why 't is well. Thus as with sudden shout 
I scare it from me, and these worse within 
That like a pack of hungry wolves disperse 
A moment into darkness and return 
Kavening the more. Vain labour to vain end. 
Even let them gorge their full. My pride is car- 
rion 
And stinks to be devoured. Hie in you hell-dogs 
And split your hides I There is no good in me ; 
Why cavil in what fashion I shall wear 
The necessary evil of an essence 
Inexorably bad V If that which lives 
In this detested arm had warmed the sap 
And swelled the branches of some innocent tree, 
A murderer would have plucked it. 

Do you weep 
Ye heavens ? Let fall your balmy tears in vain. 
Aye, make the grass green that she may not tread ; 
Let brooks prate idly, fill the empty earth 
With wasted flowers. What matter ? Have your 

will 
Niggard or good. None evermore shall see 
Or hear. My Beautiful, my Beautiful, 
Thou art slain ! Thou art slain ! 

God, that I had not been ; 
That I had perished in my father's veins ! 
That some ibre-blasting flash had diied me up, 
And nature; had not known an hour or womb 
So cursed as to conceive me ! 

[ He sits silent for two hours by the window. 
Forty times and five, 
And every time to each tAvin beak a meal; 
Two meals and but a single fly lo each 
Fourscore and ten ; but I perceive the bird 
Feedeth by favour, and the further beak 
That hatli a forward air and overhangs 
The pendant threshold at each dole enjoys 
A double bounty. Do both parent birds 
Concern in this fond labour V I think both. 



5.U BALDER. 

They seem alike; but measuring with mine eye 

By the small boles and bosses of the nest 

I mark that the alternate visitant 

Plants its right tiny foot where the left claw 

Of the last couier rested, and this so 

Not once or twice within the laws of chance, 

But in such due succession as bespeaks 

Or choice or habit personal. If choice 

Then both by differentia, since in birds 

The sense of numbers, if such sense exist, 

Solely perceptive must of need omit 

Numerical relation, and if habit 

Both by the hypothesis. 

Oh thou great grief, 
That like a lion at the foot of a tree 
Dost wait for me — gape thy i-ed jaws ! I come ! 
It must be done. The very day is doomed. 
A shut and funeral city hung with black 
Is not more different from the daily streets 
Than this day from another. As on morn 
Of foul and horrid execution 
The sullen Tyrant orders from the North 
His hideous hordes upon the glowing land 
That loved the captive, Winter ere his time 
Upon the genial season hath advanced 
Sudden with all his Power. Down the moist walls 
The long snail slimes ; cold things of fen and pool 
Come within doors and as a native stone 
Do crawl the gristly hearth ; and in my soul 
This palpable obscurity repeats 
The outer darkness, and within, without, 
Cosmic and microcosmic, as yon twain 
Round answering hemispheres, world answers 

world. 
I cannot see the hills or the mild sky, 
Or aught of gentler aspect that beheld 
INIight yet dissuade me. To mine inward eyes 
That might have met unmanned such sweet array 
Of sacred opposition, there is now 



BALDKK. 535 

Nought but the inner mist and through the mist 
A path stark clear. Therefore it must be done. 
As one who having stared upon the sun, 
Turning his eyeballs downward doth bedaub 
The blotted world with black, to my hot sight 
A moving pall is in the air and when 
I think of her it falls upon the face 
1 could not slay. Therefore it must be done. 
Nature herself consenting to the deed 
Lets her veil round it and to me shut in 
Of all her universe doth leave alone 
The victim and the knife. Therefore, oh God, 
It must be done. [He attempts to rise. 

I will arise. Rare moment ! 
The slow will hath not reached the idle thews 
Yet, being dis[)atched, the irrevocable deed 
Is now in act, and I that have not moved 
Already am felonious. What ! is this 
A dream, that the strong cause overshoots the effect 
And passes with its message the untouched 
Dull functions it should stir ? At length I stand. 
What ! am I chained ? Have I trunk-hose of 

lead? 
The door — the door — my limbs do help the 

ground 
Sucking me in. The threshold is not yet. 
I labour against the stedfastness o' the air, 
Which bars my breast, and, as two walls of ice 
Falling together with mine head between, 
Enlocks me. Hands, hands, nothing but hands — 

Ah! 
Is it so horrible that very nothing 
Conceives to stay it ? Ofl"! I will be free. 
Darkness at noon ! Aye, aye, the flood swells fast. 

This lightning {Sinks in a swoon. 

\ After lying loiuj he recovers and sits up. 
A swoon ? So best. Zero once past is past, 
And the uncounted scale beneath hath not 
A credible, extreme. I am a man 



53G KALDKR. 

Wlio with the very gate of death sliuts out 

Each earthly Avork behind him, and with all 

His human powers in one comes back to do 

A single office. By this strait I leave 

The womb of failing nature, and am born 

Invincible ; safer perha])s to know 

The range of (;hance, and stronger to have felt 

The worst of mortal weakness. Weakness ? Bah ! 

I turned the sword of manhood in my hand 

And with mine eye 1 tried it, and on edge 

The broad attempered steel went out of sight. 

A true Damascus blade ! [^Clock strikes. 

One, two, three, four, 
Five, six, seven Never trembling wretch that 

hears 
The form of Justice strained at the approach 
Of that one final word that hohls his fate, 
As I for that last stroke. 
I well remember that at eight o'clock 
We, far astmder, kept a tryst in Heaven 
Night after night for years. At that sweet hour, 
She had a prayer she used to say for me. 
And ever since I think the very time 
Repeats it. I have need of prayers to-night, 
And I do think the evening air so oft 
Ensweetened with her deprecating breath 
Will rhen be gracious tor her. 

I '11 not haste 
Nor to the aioment of the deed abate 
One jot that smooths the doing. 

[Going to the icindow. 
Brittle world ! 
Thou hast another hour ere I do break thee. 
For she shall live until the clock strikes eight. 
Oh heavy, heavy curfew ! 



r.ALDEK. 537 



SCENE XLII. 

The vacant Study. — Busts, books, a harp, cfc. A locked 
writiiifj-case on the table. 

[Enter Amv {her face very pale, — her hair 
dishevelled, — her dress disordered). 

A II) I/. Aye — this is the place, 

This is the chamber of his nig:hts and days. 
J^et me lie close. Where be these mistresses 
For which his lawful wife must sit in the shade ? 

[Taking up the tvrifin(/-case. 
What are you in here V {Shakinc/ the case. 

Do you know me, j^irls ? 
This makes the treason full ; I have endured 
Too lonfj. Have I not loved him like a god ? 
Am I not beautiful ? Ts it no shame 
That he should leave these limbs for harridans 
That I can shake together in a box ? 
It must be ended — I will wait him here 
And he shall do me right. [ Crouches down in a comer. 
\E7iier liAi_,DER. — He stands a long time silent. 

Balder. Ye pale companions, marble counsel- 
lors, 
Who for so many years have been content 
To ratify my will ; or in the shine 
Of whose mysterious influence I have been 
The unwitting creature of a power unknown 
W^rought by the [)itiless necessity 
Of your supreme ascendant ; Deities 
Or Slaves, — I know not whether — but not stones ! 
Ye who have darkened with me as white brows 
Of the invulnerable rocks with thunder, 
And in my triumphs have been moved as gods 
Changing unchangeable with such a truth 
Of inner motion that the deferent eye 
OlH'ved the conscious soul and saw a chance 



538 BALDER. 

Sweeter than mortal beauty, like the smiles 

That flit and flicker in dim light about 

The lips of death ! Oh thou dear sanctuary, 

Wherein as in a body I have dwelt 

The intbrmino- spirit, finding more and more 

My wish forelaid, my wants fulfilled in thee, 

Till going forth from thee the plastic sense 

Subserves thee, absent, and I stretch the hand 

To the familiar distance, and raise vain eyes, — 

As an unbodied ghost new given to air 

Enfolds the immaterial arms, and strains 

To lift the wonted limbs ! my stringless harp, 

— Poor empty skull that hadst so sweet a tongue — 

Ye broken tablets ; — 

[ Opening the case and taking fo7-th a scroll. 
Thou material soul. 
Thou uncontained dimension, thou dead self. 
Which art not I, and shalt perhaps revive 
When this I am is nought ; thou wondrous voice 
That canst be seen and touched ; thou strange 

parhelion 
That wilt not set with me ; thou Ariel 
Fast in the rifted [)ine ; thou Afreet dread 
And fierce, whom, sealed by a strong sign of power, 
As in a charmed vial thus I hold 
Inert and silent, so that a child's hand 
May bear thee harmless, place thee here and here, 
Take thee and leave thee, — thou that being loosed 
May'st leap forth like a blast of the simoom 
And tear a host to tatters ; thou entombed 
And mummied past ; thou colourless substantial 
Which in a light unrisen shalt be called 
A microcosm of beauty ; thou dull moonstone 
])ark as cold lava now — that rushing o'er 
The upturned heads of nations might'st have shone 
A blazing portent, troubling thrones of kings ; 
Thou blai-k uncomely root; thou trifling seed; 
Thou grain of poison or of antidote 
So little aiul so much ; thou extillation 



^ UALDKIJ. 539 

And sacred concrete of the golden cloud 
Tiiat filled the azure of my years, and like 
The legendary water-drop that falls 
On Abyssnilan summit and becomes 
Egyptian harvests — wert to flood the earth ; 
Oh thou that I have made in fear and awe 
And ignorance, knowing only thou canst smite 
Angels and fiends, and shake the shrines of Gods ; 
Thou hidden secret, master Alchemy 
And (.'unningest composition of mine art, 
Which as a fireball with this unknown hand 
Approaching through the dark I thought to throw 
Into the smouldering ashes of mankind 
And see, with thunder like the clap of doom, 
From earth to heaven — as if a pillared light 
Shot up fj'om the rent centre of the world — 
The midnight of my wretched race made day 
With my unthought of glory — 

[Amy, rising suddenly^ opproaching wildly, snatches the scroll 
and throws it through the open loindou) into the moat. 
Amy. Glory ? see ! 

Can it light up that pit down Avhere I dwell 
Out of the light of day and of the stars? 
Out of the light o' the grave ; — Aye, the dull earth 
Below the dead is not so black with night 
But the great day shall stir it ! Is it well 
That the dull earth below the dead hath light 
And I am dark for ever ? Is that well ? 
Is that Avell, husband V Husband, is it well ? 
Oh yes, thy glory ! Yes — he must have glory. 
Yes, he must have his glory ; he can stand 
All day in the sun, but he must have his glory ! 
He has walked here up in the sunshine world, 
He has been In the wind and the sweet rain, 
And none cried " Upset the cup o' the honey-time, 
Upset the cup o' the honey-time," 
And I am empty and dry. 

[Looks vacantly on the ground. 
Thy glory V 
I pray thee, husband, tell me what it is. 



540 BALDER. , 

Is it a god that it can set me free ? 

Hath it limbs to burrow ? Can it reach me ? 

Is it any thing that I have known ? 

There was Love — I knew it — thou taughtest me. 

How many songs hast thou not sung of love ? 

[Sings. 
" When first I courted thee, Amy, 

The years we knew were fair and few, 
I was gay as break of day, 
And thou wert pure as dew. 

I looked into thy face, Amy, 

No word I said, no tear I shed, 
My love-light true fell in thy dew, 
And came back rosy-red." 
Or, 

" Love broke his golden bow, chasing thee long 
ago, 
Then the boy cried, 
Thou didst in pity turn " — 

Nay not that, but, 
" Come love, and bring 
Sweet hope and joy " — 

Words, words ! what are they, down 
Where I am ? Oh, my husband, would it reach 

me ? 
Dost think that it would reach me for thy sake ? 
Dost think it would ? And will it fetch me back 
Being thine ? I do remember all things thine 
Did love me. There was never dog of thine 
But if I looked would run before my eyes 
And bay for pleasure ; if I dropped my glove 
'T would carry it, poor Pompey ! Bay ? Who 

spoke 
Of Bays ? Is this a time to mock me, husband ? 
Yet some one hath said somewhat of the sea; 
I think I heard it ; Didst thou speak of the sea? 
Why do I see the sea ? And was it kind 
That thou shouldst maunder to me of the seaV 



BALDKlt. 5U 

To me ? To me ? Alas ! the moonlight water ! 
]^ost thou mind when we sailed together, love, 
We two alone, and thou didst say the moon 
Was like a silver boat, — and so the silver 
Slanted — I know not how, — and I fell in 
Deep, deep. But I am deeper, deeper now. 
I think the sea-roeks gaped and I fell here 
With all the sea between me and the wind. 
And the sea-roek between me and the sea. 
I strike it thus. — 

[Strikitiff her head against the stone wall. 
Balder. My Amy ' 



Ami/. Why ho 



w now .'' 



Do not move me, but rather move it for me ; 
For why should I lie here out of the world ? 
Thou knowest not, husband, what it is to lie 
With all the sea between thee and the wind, 
And the sea-rock between thee and the sea. 
I say why should I lie here? Ouc of all 
The beauty of the earth, the blessed chime 
Of things, the touch and furthest cast of good, 
The common warmth of human kind, the voice 
Of man or God ? Out of the very sea 
That rolls and rolls above my aching head 
And will not cool these lips ? Man, what have I 
To do with thee '? How long is 't since we two 
Drew near ? If I am altered since we met, 
What then ? Have we dwelt at the further poles 
For nought ? Because my puppet warmed thy bed 
And filled thy chair have we been side by side ? 
Ah, ah ! didst never look in at the eye 
And miss me ? What, didst never hear my heart 
Like a clock ticking in an empty house ? 
Husband ? Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, — 

[Pauses. 
Do not disbelieve. 

They will scoff" at thee, they will shake thy dream 
Out of thy soul, they will deny, deny 
This where I am, but thou hast heard a voice 



54 2 HALDKR. 

Out of its depths, thou hast heard it ! does it sound 
Like a beloved familiar? Is there fire 
Above-ground that could smelt what thou didst 

love 
To this ? Hast met it anywhere on earth 
My husband? Aye, and have I frightened thee 
Into my mate ? Shoot out thine eyeballs more ! 
See ! see ! \_Dnncing before him. 

Thou canst not shut up ears and eyes. 
List to my voice, my voice which I upheave 
As I did force it through a dome of brass. 
Mine hour is come. I will cry in thine ears 
And burst in ci\ying. Canst thou tell how deep 
By the sound ? Black — black — Hast a good ear 

for colour ? 
It bubbles thro' it all, up — up — I think 
Thou dost not hear me, but thou shalt hear once, 
Once, only once, and I will be so silent, 
So silent — thou shalt not look pale at me, 
Thou shalt not clatter thy long teeth at me. 
Thou shalt not show out thy black beard at me. 
What, does it grow so fast ? What, have I scared 

thee ? 
What, does the white skin shrink back down the 

roots ? 
Art thou a porcupine ? What ! Shall I dance ? 
Aye, husband, dance and sing ; aye, hear me sing. 
Hear ! thou shalt hear ; ray voice is coming up ; 
Hark, hark, it comes ; dyed with the dark, it comes ! 
Now it comes into me, now I will cry ; 

[<S/<e shrieks. 
I am his wife ! This is my murderer ! 
Make way, make way, this is a murderer ! 
I am in hell, slain, lost, robbed, murdered, mad, 
He did it, he ! 

Balder. He knows it. 

A7ny. Mad, mad, mad. 

[Si7iki7ig in his arms in a swoon. 



HALDFH. 043 

Balder. Now, now, my soul ! it must be ere she 
wake, 
I will bear this alone ; she shall not know 
The hand that strikes — This hand ! Nor man nor 

fiend 
Would do thee harm but me ! Now — now — 

yet oh ! 
That it must be now. That it had been while 
The fire of madness burned her, and she swelled 
And blackened like a burninir house, once home, 
Now but a house in flames. For home is not 
The stone that holds it; and the elements 
That once were Amy, and which marked thy place 
And made thee visible, were neither thou 
Nor all thou wert to me, nor all thou art, 
Lying this moment here, here as of old, 
And with no sign in heaven or earth to say 
That thou canst never waken as of old. 

Yet one more kiss which thou canst not return. 
Return ? And hast thou given thy last ? Oh, Amy, 
Wake, wake ! My last ? "And taken as the others ? 

\^Bmcs his head into his hand. 
Accursed coward, and is this thy love ? 
Poor slaughtered Innocent, thou hadst good rhrht 
To scorn me ! Closer, closer to my heart. 
There thou didst find the bane, and shouldst re- 
ceive 
The final counterpoison. [Begins to divest her. 

Heaving breast, 
How oft have I undone thy weeds as now, 
And very softly, very silently 
As now — and not more tenderly, no not 
More tenderly, no, on thy bridaf night, 
No, not more tenderly. But oh, you heavens, 
Wherefore and wherefore ? 

Here, under her bosom, 
It cannot fail here. Hide thee, hide thee, Heart ; 
Poor fluttering bird, why wilt thou stir the lilies ? 



644 IJALDKIJ. 

Dost thou not know me who I am V Soft, soft ; 
Thou hast so often struggled In mine arms 
Asleep, and I have wakened thee with kisses, 
I pray thee do not struggle now, my child, 
I cannot rouse thee from this dream. 

Oh God, 
If she should clasp her hands upon her breast 
And moan ! If she should feel through this thin 

trance 
The cold steel ere it pierce and call on me 
For help ! — but I will hold thee fast, my child, 
Fast in these arms altho' thou start and cry, 
And shield thee from myself! If I strike ill 
The first stroke, and she wake and strive for life ; 
If she should ope her eyes but once too late 
And go forth to believe for evermore 
I struck unkindly — [ Throws a kerchief over her face. 

No, she shall not see me. 
And now thy living face is gone for ever. 
And 1 have murdered thee before thy time. 
Nor God nor Demon could have wrung from me 
This moment, this last moment, only thou 
Oh, only thou. — [Frantically lifts the kerchief. 

Amy ! 

Thou, thou, all thou ! 
Help me, my child. Aye, look so beautiful. 
'T is well ; if there be heaven this is not 
To kill thee. — Now. 



THE END. 



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